Triptych
by liketheriver
Summary: Genetic manipulation, Smurf loogies, nudity, Freudian analysis, and ravenous frogs. Complete
1. Reflections

_RATING: T for language and violence and adult situations._

_SEASON: Probably in the second half of the first season somewhere._

_MAJOR CHARACTERS: The boys, of course, (if you don't know who I'm talking about, you're in the wrong fic), and most of their friends will make an appearance._

_CATEGORY: Action/humor/angst- all of them eventually._

_SUMMARY: Genetic manipulation, Smurf loogies, a broken McKay (sort of), an angsty Sheppard (sort of) and a WIP (sort of)._

_SPOILERS: There are a few hints, here and there but nothing gets spoiled, but everything in Season One is fair game._

_FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I thrive on it and so do the bunnies._

_DISCLAIMER: I don't own them, and they are probably pretty thankful for that._

_NOTES: Although this is a POV story, it is not part of my POV series. It is part of the dictionary series I have going during the hiatus. In addition, I'm trying something new here, so concentrate for a minute. This is technically a WIP, however it has a twist. It will be made up of three parts- each part will be a stand alone story in a different genre and each will revolve around a common plot. They will build on each other but not necessarily be dependant on one another. First up is angst, next will be humor, and last will be the action/adventure to tie it all up with a pretty red bow._

_ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: This story has not been Beta-ed, mainly because I don't have one. So, all mistakes are mine. Thanks for all the reviews for my other stories, they seriously keep me going and are the only reason I keep spitting these things out! So, if you want more, let me know._

**Triptych**

**by liketheriver**

**Triptych** (triptik) _noun_ 1. a picture or carving on three panels, typically hinged together vertically and used as an altarpiece. 2. a set of three associated artistic, literary, or musical works.

**Panel 1: Reflections**

I've always found the simple act of gearing up to have a very calming effect. Some people find their center by meditating, I strap on my gear. It provides a kind of focus so that I don't find myself dwelling on what I am about to get myself into, or in this case, what I've just done.

I tie my bootlaces, absently thinking back to those first lessons as a kid. Make the tree, make the rabbit, the rabbit runs around the tree and into the hole. If only I could be that rabbit and find a nice deep hole right about now. I'd say six feet should be deep enough. No, not yet, but soon. _See you soon, McKay_, but not soon enough. For now, I'm like Alice following the white rabbit and there's no turning back from the twisted Wonderland I have found myself in this time. This time. The thought makes me laugh with all that it implies of a past and present that don't really exist; at least for me and Rodney. It's a one shot deal for us. One fucking shot.

No, not going there; back to my boots.

I double cinch the loops and tuck the ends into the top of the leather, last thing you need is to be tripping over shoe strings in the middle of a situation. The bad guys don't usually go for calling a time out in the middle of chasing your ass through the jungle or shooting at you around corners. I put my right foot on the floor, being careful where I place it while being just as careful not to look down. Yep, whatever you do, John, don't look down. Now, isn't that ironic; I've spent my entire Air Force career doing my damnedest to keep my feet firmly flying as high off the ground as possible and I can't even manage a peek at the floor six feet below without being overcome with a gut wrenching vertigo to put Hitchcock to shame.

I lift my left foot to my bed and repeat the process, then turn my attention to my vest. The check I make is cursory, no need to worry too much about supplies since this is going to be a quick trip. Not like I have a lot of time for sight seeing and lollygagging. Not like I have a lot of time period. I pull the extra ammo clips out, double checking to see that they are fully loaded. Satisfied, I put one back in my vest and the others in my pack, so that they rest comfortably on top of two sets of clothes. We came back dressed, which means they won't, unless I bring something along. McKay pointed that out. Never would have thought of that myself, but that's just Rodney for you. Here I am concerned with covering their asses with firepower and he's concerned with covering their asses with BVDs and BDUs. But it got me thinking and I add a few MREs, powerbars, and water. Who knows when they last ate? For good measure I toss in a couple of Snickers from my private stash; sugar for the quick pick-me-up and peanuts for the slow protein burn to sustain the high a little longer. Learned that from Rodney, too; leave it to a hypoglycemic to know which candy bars get the best bang for the buck.

I've learned a lot from McKay over the short time I've known him and the even shorter time that I've really gotten to know him. And I'm not just talking about the wormhole physics and naquedah generators and the Ancient's technology, or even the fact that although man cannot live on bread alone, evidently power bars are a different story. No, Rodney's lessons go deeper than that. I learned that the last person I ever thought capable of watching my back was the one that did it most passionately and, I have to admit, most accurately. I learned that a person can drive you crazy and keep you sane all at the same time. And I realized that friendship really can sneak up on you when you aren't looking for it or even wanting it.

I toss in my own 9mm and the GDO at the top of the pack then zip it closed. I pick up Rodney's sidearm from the bed, eject the magazine and reload the single missing bullet. _See you soon, McKay_. This one I keep for myself, securing it in the holster, which I then strap securely to my leg. Given that my P90 is always in hand, I rarely pull the smaller gun. Still, I've always found the solid weight against my thigh reassuring. It's really no different now, except for the reason I find it so comforting; it is the finality that it promises and the release it has already delivered.

I hook the clasps on my vest, tugging at the bottom and twisting it slightly until it sits snuggly in place, again taking a small comfort in the familiar weight of Kevlar and nylon. I give my P90 one final inspection before I loop it over my head and across my chest. I take a deep breath, dreading turning around, dreading taking that first step across the body of my best friend lying faceless, face down on my floor. Funny thing about a bullet to the back of the head, it makes a tiny little entrance but one hell of an exit. Now that I think about it, it's really not that funny after all.

I shoulder the pack, take the step, doing my best to avoid the blood, and reach the door.

"See you soon, McKay," I tell him once again, as if to reassure him, as if to reassure myself, then head for the Jumper bay.

It's late, so no one is in the halls to question why I'm dressed for a mission, although all that will change soon, when they realize Rodney is no longer in his bed in the infirmary. I manage to make it to the Jumper without running into anyone and this is when the first real pain hits me. I lean against the outside of the craft trying to breathe through the agony that has me doubled over and ready to puke. I probably would except I took care of that a few second after taking care of McKay. Up until now, the pain has been minor, manageable; a dull ache that never seems to leave in my lower back, an occasional sharp pain just below my rib cage, a throbbing behind my eyes that comes and goes without warning, but this…this is what Rodney had been enduring for the last two days and what I have to look forward to myself. But for just a while longer, then it will end.

The rolling wave in my gut lessens and I make my way to the pilot seat. I concentrate, bringing the ship to life and opening the bay doors to the gate room below. It's strange, actually having to work to activate the Jumper. It has always come so easy in the past, but now she's hesitant as if she's resisting my coaxing, not sure if she can trust the genetic code she's sensing. And for good reason; my DNA is breaking down, the cells are becoming unstable as the double helix untwists and unravels one protein at a time. That's another little visual courtesy of Rodney. Beckett described it as a disease, a highly aggressive cancer that is spreading through us and quickly eating away at all the internal organs it can get its tumorous hands on. He thinks it is a result of some alien probe that had been done to us on P4X882, my ultimate destination on this little trip. But once again, McKay figured out the real reason, although I can't say I was that surprised by his revelation. Somehow I knew, just like he did.

We had both experienced a moment of self awareness, an instant when we woke up and thought, "Here I am," that happened not in our childhoods but in a laboratory on an alien planet. We kept it to ourselves, knowing the others wouldn't believe it, might try to stop us from executing the rescue, would have sent another team and just put them in danger, as well. But by the time we finally admitted the reason to ourselves, Rodney was too far gone and I knew I would be flying solo on this mission.

I align the Jumper with the gate and dial the DHD in the cockpit. The gate tech on duty looks up in alarm as the chevrons begin to encode and attempts to call me on the radio I'm not wearing. He's confused, not sure what to do and I smile and wave, hoping he will just trust me because I'm who he thinks I am and let me go. Evidently protocol wins out and he activates the shield. Crap, this is going to be harder than I had hoped. I focus on the shield, willing it to shut down. A few weeks ago, this would have been nothing more than a passing thought to make it blink out of existence. But in reality, a few weeks ago, I wasn't even here at all.

The shield flickers, once, twice, then is gone and I shoot through the wormhole. The Jumper tilts sloppily and I guide it as best I can to the area I'm looking for. I spot the small copse of trees in the middle of the grasslands, and I thankfully put it down before my concentration falters and I lose control of the ship completely. I was expecting to eventually lose use of the gene, but didn't realize it would happen so suddenly. Funny thing, that was the first sign that something was wrong with McKay.

The team had arrived on this planet three weeks earlier. We were roaming through waist high grass while Rodney played hot and cold with his energy readings. He would take a few steps in one direction, stop, readjust and walk a few steps back in the other direction. I could almost hear the warmer, warmer, warmer, hot, hot, colder, colder clicking off in his head as he zigzagged his way across the prairie. The rest of us held back, just enough to let his meanderings normalize and reveal a much straighter path. Finally, after an hour, I'd had enough. Not that it wasn't entertaining watching him stagger around like a drunken freshman trying to find his way back to his dorm after his first kegger, but I realized he was actually walking twice the distance as the rest of us and that just meant the whining about the trek back to the Jumper would begin all the sooner.

That's the thing about McKay, self preservation goes out the window if he's onto something. It's as if his psyche has the ability to justify away the need for even the most basic physical essentials. 'Food?' it rationalizes, 'who needs a meal when I am being sustained by the wonder of scientific discovery? Sleep? My magnificent brainwaves are the equivalent of mental cold fusion and are self perpetuating without the need for regenerative rest. Physical strain? Major, let's hike ten miles in subtropical, bug-infested heat because I think I detect a nine-volt battery buried somewhere in that dung heap.' And then, when the bubble bursts, when the discovery is a dud and you're up to your arm pits in alien shit with nothing to show for it, what happens then? 'Sheppard, do you have an extra power bar? Major, are you planning on taking a break soon or is it your goal to recreate the Bataan Death March? What do you mean it's a four hour walk back to the Jumper?' Thanks, but no thanks. I had no plans to fight that battle that day.

"McKay, hold up." He stopped in his path, clearly pissed that I had interrupted his search for the ultimate power source. I jogged up to him, lifting my knees high to make it over the piles of bent grass. "What the hell's going on?"

He punched buttons, always with the button punching, without even looking up. I couldn't tell if it was a way to avoid answering the question or he legitimately needed to push those damned buttons. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I know you can't fly in a straight line, but I didn't think that carried over to walking." I pointed out the undulating path of crushed grass that led back to Ford and Teyla.

He gave an uncommitted, "Huh," in response.

Who knew a single syllable could be so infuriating? "Huh?" I demanded incredulously.

He looked at me in annoyed confusion. "What?"

"What?" I knew my expression mirrored his own.

"I asked you first."

I shook my head, refusing to get drawn in any deeper. "Rodney, is there anything here or not?"

He punched more buttons and I was tempted to take the detector away and fling it as far across the grassy plain as I could. Finally, he answered my question, sort of. "It's underground."

"Underground?"

"Major want a cracker? Are you trying to sound like a parrot on purpose or does Carson need to check your hearing when we get back?"

One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi…"What is underground?"

"The power source, or I should say, sources. I've picked up several since we left the Jumper."

"So by underground, you mean buried power lines or something?"

"Power lines? Seriously, Sheppard, have you ever seen a power outlet since we've arrived in Pegasus? No, they're distinct signatures. I think we're walking above an underground complex or facility of some kind."

That got the ole' Spidey senses tingling. "An active complex or abandoned?" There had been no signs of indigenous people since our arrival on the planet. In fact, there were no signs of civilization at all; just grass and more grass and the occasional trees in the middle of more grass, as far as the eyes could see. But the last time we had run into an underground complex, the people hadn't been as friendly as I had hoped; Old McDonald by day, Dr. Strangelove by night.

"I can't tell. I'm not getting any life signs readings, but I don't know if that means the facility is buried too deeply to read them or there aren't any life signs to detect."

I considered our options then nodded my head. "All right, let's see if we can find the entrance, see if it looks like it's been used lately."

"See if this race was smart enough to lock their secret underground base?" Obviously I wasn't the only one who had thought of the Genii.

"Exactly. Hopefully, these guys don't have as big a mine-shaft gap fixation as Cowen did."

I signaled for Ford and Teyla and briefed them on the plan. We split up, McKay and I to the north, Ford and Teyla to the south, looking for the entrance. We had been walking about forty-five minutes, following the random signals, when we reached the edge of the grass at a stand of trees. It had been about ten minutes since anything had shown up on the detector and Rodney had just suggested we backtrack and see if we could pick up something again when I heard the grass rustle behind me.

I raised my P90, scanning across the overgrown meadow as it swayed in the breeze. McKay froze with my action, then hesitantly called out a quiet "Major?" when nothing appeared.

I lowered the gun, deciding I must have just heard a small animal. I shook my head, "Guess it was nothing," I told him then was knocked to the ground and into unconsciousness by an invisible force.

I opened my eyes, slowly, and stared up onto a dimly lit ceiling. I blinked one, twice, trying to remember what exactly happened. It was hazy at first, everything, then with a force like the one that had knocked me for a loop, the memories came back, vivid and clear. And I mean every memory; from my first grade teacher's name to my first time in the cockpit to the first time I learned what a stargate was. It was like someone was flipping a book, the pages moving so fast that I could feel the air being raised by the motion. Then, it settled down and they all faded into the comfortable or uncomfortable place they had always held in my mind. I sat up quickly, expecting a head rush, but finding I felt pretty good. Actually, better than good; I felt damn good, rested, rejuvenated, invigorated even. The best I had felt in weeks. I looked around and saw that I was in a hallway and by the lack of windows and the cool temperature, I figured I was inside the complex we had been searching for. Beside me was my pack, my vest, even my P90, still loaded. Whoever had brought us here hadn't bothered to disarm me. Us. There had been an us. McKay!

I jumped up, surprised that my legs felt so wobbly given how great I felt otherwise. I leaned a hand against the wall to steady myself, then took a tentative step forward. It felt jello-ish, like Bambi on a bender, as if the muscles didn't know exactly what to do, then after a few more steps, they seemed to catch on and I was able to move with little trouble to the lump I saw down the hall.

When I reached him, he was staring up at the ceiling, in much the same way that I had. "Rodney?" My voice cracked like I was fourteen and I cleared my throat.

He tilted his head toward me. "Major?" he squeaked and it was good to see I wasn't the only one reliving puberty.

I offered him a hand up and steadied him when his legs seemed as unstable as mine had been upon first standing. "What happened?" he asked.

"I was hoping you might be able to answer that," I told him honestly. "I think we're inside the complex."

He nodded his head in agreement as he studied the surroundings. "Maybe we stumbled across some sort of transporter device." He bent and picked up the life signs detector from where it lay on the floor, pushed a few buttons then whacked it roughly on the side with his open palm. "Well, wherever we are, the detector isn't working."

He handed it to me, as if in explanation. I took it and watched two blips appear. "Looks like it's working fine to me."

He crinkled his brow and in true Rodney form, yanked it out of my hand. He shook his head and turned it toward me with a roll of his eyes. "Major, it is not working."

I yanked it back and shoved it in his face when the blips reappeared. "Yes, it is."

Even in the low light, I could see him pale slightly. Then it dawned on me. It was working for me but it wasn't working for him. It was no longer responding to his little test-tube-created gene. I didn't know what that meant exactly, but I was beginning to think that we hadn't gotten away as unscathed as I had originally thought. "Maybe there is some kind of shielding here that's keeping you from being able to use it. After all, my genes are far superior to yours and just might be able to overcome it." I tried for lighthearted but it just came across as desperate.

"Maybe," he conceded, but the single-word answer spoke volumes.

"Look, I know the plan was to get in here, but I'm just picking up some weird vibes from this place."

"By weird vibes, do you mean we were rendered unconscious by some unknown means and by some strange coincidence my gene therapy just decided to stop working?"

I grimaced at his bluntness, "That's part of it." He regarded me blandly. "Okay, that's all of it. I think we should just get out of here, get to the surface and make sure we're okay. If we find the way out, then we'll be able to find our way back in if we need to, with the entire team." I had no way of knowing if Ford and Teyla were down here somewhere or still on the surface and I wanted to find out.

He sighed, torn between tracking down the power signatures and worry that something was wrong, then nodded in silent agreement. I kept the detector, fortunately catching myself before I tried to hand it back to him, then scanned the hallway. I could make out the two blips that represented us, and two others further down the hall to the left. I led us right, away from anyone who might want to stop us from leaving. We walked no more than five minutes, past a couple of locked doors, with no other signs of life before we found an access ladder that led to a hinged hatch that opened onto the surface. I swear I've had a more difficult time walking the corridors of Atlantis than I did finding our way out of the complex. Whoever or whatever had taken us down there had meant for us to get out and get out quick.

I peeked my head out, seeing that we were within throwing distance of the small stand of trees where we had originally been taken. I climbed out, offering a hand to McKay when he reached the top. The hatch had grass growing over it. We could have wandered around aimlessly for hours and never found it from the surface. It kind of made me wonder how many others we had unknowingly walked across.

Rodney climbed into the grass and without a word he thrust out his hand, fingers beckoning in a silent demand for the detector. I handed it to him and watched as he closed his eyes in concentration. He opened them again, sighed, then regarded the ground as he turned the blank screen back for my inspection.

"Okay, that's it, we're heading back," I told him, more than a little panicked that this was happening and keying my radio. "Ford, Teyla, report."

"Major!" Ford exclaimed across the radio, "Where have you been? We've been trying to contact you for over five hours. There's one search team already here and another on the way from Atlantis now."

Five hours? Five? As in the number after four? As in five is right out? Okay, needed to let that little tidbit settle in. By the wide-eyed look McKay gave me, so did he. I didn't even want to think about what could have been done to us in five hours. The Super Bowl doesn't last five hours. The Academy Awards don't last five hours. Hell, most of the relationships I've been in haven't lasted five hours, unless I fell asleep afterwards. "We're heading back to the Jumper now. We'll meet you there and explain."

Of course I had no idea what we were going to explain. The whole situation could be summed up in three sentences. We were looking. We were taken. Rodney's broken. I just hoped to hell Carson could fix him.

Ends up Carson couldn't fix him. In fact, it took almost a week before Carson was really convinced he was broken. Other than the inability to use his ATA gene, everything else looked fine, on both of us. Of course, Beckett couldn't really explain the loss of Rodney's abilities either until he finished up a complete genetic workup of McKay.

"It's as if your DNA decided it wanted to reject the ATA gene it had already accepted," he explained as we sat with Weir in the briefing room.

Elizabeth leaned forward with a frown. "Is that normal, Doctor?"

"Not necessarily. It's not unheard of, but gene therapy is such a new field of study, we've yet to work all the kinks out of the system."

"Great, I'm a kink." Rodney smiled weakly at Carson then regarded me with a head bobble, "I've yet to be worked out."

I placed a restraining hand on his arm before he could throw it up in exasperation. The past week had been rough for all of us, but none more than McKay. His work came to a screeching halt since he was no longer able to manipulate all the little Ancient toys he had been playing with. I had stepped in, offering my services as the official guinea pig that he was always pestering me to be, but it seemed to almost frustrate him more that I could still do the things he couldn't. Add to that the battery of medical tests Carson was running on the two of us and we had both become pricklier than the pincushions we felt like.

Rodney let out a frustrated sigh, but I felt him relax and I loosened my grip on his arm, then immediately retightened it with Carson's next statement.

"There's more." It was quiet, sad, and said while looking anywhere except at McKay. He took a breath, as if to steel his resolve, then continued. "I was looking at your scans and medical images and the ones from yesterday show something that wasn't there when you first arrived back." Finally he raised his eyes to look at Rodney. "There are growths, several of them, on pretty much every one of your organs."

Rodney sat stone faced, not blinking, not moving, nothing. Finally, since he didn't seem capable of asking any questions, I did. "Is this related to his DNA rejecting the gene?"

"Possibly."

"Possibly?" I think I may have actually started to rise from my seat. "What the hell, Carson? Do you know the answer to anything?"

"No, Major, I don't. I've never seen anything like this before. I've never seen a cancer spread so rapidly and extensively in a matter of days. I have no clue what is causing it or how to stop it and I'm bloody well at my wits end as to how to proceed. But every fiber of my being says it's related to your abduction on the planet." He clamped his mouth shut and flushed in embarrassment at how emotional his outburst had been.

"Major, you're cutting off my circulation." I looked over and realized I was white-knuckling McKay's arm and released my grip. How the hell was he being so calm? The man who would find a reason to reduce a lab tech to tears just because they had run out of Mac and Cheese in the chow hall, was sitting there like we were discussing whether or not there was a chance that it would rain today instead of whether or not he had a chance in hell of surviving through the week.

"Now, let's approach this rationally. Carson, have you seen anything in any of my tests to indicate that something was done to us during our five hours of lost time?"

"No, nothing, but my gut feeling."

"Oh, good, next you'll be determining my course of treatment by reading Athosian tea leaves. If all else fails I'm sure you can just perform an exorcism and cast out my demons."

Beckett hung his head and Elizabeth stepped in. "Rodney, I have to agree with Dr. Beckett. It just seems too much of a coincidence that this all happened after your abduction."

"Great, maybe you can sit in on his next séance." He wiggled his fingers spookily. "Maybe two true believers can contact the spirit world faster than one."

"Rodney," she started but he cut her off with an upraised hand.

"Elizabeth, the last thing I need right now is speculation or conjecture or instinct. What I need is data, hard and fast, something I can work with so that I can come up with a plan of attack. Now, Major Sheppard was there with me the entire time and he is fine. Not that I'm wishing any ill will on him, but shouldn't he be having the same symptoms that I am if it is related?"

No one said anything until I finally volunteered. "Run the tests on me. The same ones you ran on McKay. You only did about half of what you did to him to me. Maybe something will show up that can at least point us in the right direction."

So, they ran the tests and something did show up; my own set of tumors, smaller than McKay's, but still there and just as wide spread.

I exit the Jumper and dry swallow two of the pain killers Carson gave me when my small aches and pains started. I know it won't do much good against the stronger attacks, but hopefully it will keep me going without knocking me off my feet. Just a little longer, I tell myself, and I hope that's all I'll need. I walk back and forth searching the area for the hatch. I had hoped that the area would still be disturbed by our footprints, but the grasslands have healed since we were here last. Sure is a bitch Rodney and I haven't done the same. Then, I notice a tuff of grass that is bent at an odd angle, like it's being held down. I squat and see that it's folded over and trapped inside the latch. I feel around until I find the edge and peel back the entrance to the facility.

I climb down, ignoring the growing pain in my back, then the sudden sharp pain that disappears just as quickly in my chest. I pull out the life signs detector, throwing everything I have into getting it to work. It blinks to life, showing me and two other signs down the hall we had used to exit. I smile, hoping that the conclusion that I had reached much too late was accurate.

I work my way down the hall, noting the growing strength of the signals and the absence of anything or anyone else. I know why Rodney and I were able to escape so easily last time. We were meant to leave. But now, I would have thought someone would be guarding their prisoners a little closer. Maybe they are and I just can't detect them. Maybe they got what they need and have abandoned them. Maybe they don't really care one way or the other if they stay or go. It doesn't matter. I'll take care of what presents itself when the time comes. McKay and I had our one shot, I plan to give them theirs. That's all I can do.

Another burning pain tears through my stomach and I lean against the wall and clutch my middle. This time I can't stop the nausea and throw up on the tile floor, noting the dark red in the dim light. Rodney puked blood for two days. I know; I held the bedpan for him for most of that time. But there's no one here to hold it for me, so the floor will just have to do. I lean my head against the wall, feeling the cool surface against the sweat on my forehead. I look down at the detector in my hand, it flickers and I concentrate again until it stabilizes. Not much further, not much longer. _See you soon, McKay._

Once the wave passes, I stumble on down the hall until I reach a door and the blips on the detector are blinking as strongly as my own life sign. Either I'm fading or I've found them or a little of both. I try the door and it's locked. I concentrate, placing my hand on the frame, not knowing if it will work, but figuring it's worth a try before I break out the C-4. I feel it waver under my touch, then slide open. I walk into the room and stop, unable to make my legs move further now that I'm here. The room is dark, unlit, except for the glow from the tanks.

If I close my eyes and think about it, I can smell the flat bread being grilled with olive oil and sumac in the markets of Afghanistan. I can taste the warm metallic bite of water from my canteen as it washes down the sand from the Saudi desert. I can feel the way the air in Antarctica burns my lungs when I leave the shelters and breathe in that first frozen breath. I can hear the distinctive hum of an Apache rotating to life. I can see the Nevada desert rolling away under me as I tilt the controls and head towards the Sheep Range in the distance. I have so many recollections and yet I have experienced none of them; a lifetime on an Earth that I have never stepped foot on. Thirty-seven years of false memories condensed into three weeks of existence.

I look down into the tanks, see McKay lying in one, see myself in the other. No, not really us; them, the originals, the blue prints. We are just reflections in glass, weak copies, and whether by defect or design, we didn't last.

But there are some memories that I have that the original John Sheppard doesn't, like watching Rodney McKay's amazing brain explode brilliantly across my dresser. And isn't the other John the lucky bastard to have missed out on so much.

I was sitting with Rodney this morning, listening to him brief Zelenka, give his final orders to his troops before the pain meds dulled that incredible thought process of his into oblivion. I was tired, so goddamned tired; tired from sitting in that chair for days on end, tired of watching Rodney die before my eyes, tired of knowing I was just behind him. I leaned forward in my chair, crossed my arms on the edge of McKay's bed and put my head down. Just for a minute, I thought. But as I listened to the two scientists drone on, the sound of their technobabble was so soothing that I could pretend it was just an ordinary day and I had walked into the lab and found them comparing notes or arguing over results. It all sounded so normal that I relaxed into nothingness and actually slept.

I woke with the feeling of eyes on me, my own flew open while my body remained stone still. Zelenka was gone and McKay was staring at me, his blue eyes glassy from the drugs, bloodshot from the pain, but intent on me. "They did a pretty amazing job in just five hours."

I thought he was talking about the way whoever it was had managed to fuck up our systems so completely and irrevocably in such a short amount of time. I closed my eyes again, feeling uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his gaze, but still comfortable enough that I didn't want to move from the bed. "Yeah, one bang up job."

"I mean, just look at the detail. They even got the freckle by your ear right."

I reopened my eyes and gave him a confused look. "What?"

He shook his head and I could see a glimmer in those eyes of his. "Oh, you know. You have to know. We're not real."

"It's one hell of a bad dream if we're not."

His hands started moving then, as if trying to pull the words from the air. "We're real enough; flesh and blood and mangled DNA. But we're not the originals. We're decoys, the smoke and mirrors, the reflection in glass to pull the audience's attention away from what's really happening back on that planet."

"And just what is happening back there?" I placated, figuring the pain killers were talking more than him.

He shrugged. "How the hell should I know? I'm just a clone."

"Rodney?" I asked in shock that he would say something so ridiculous, but there was a part of me that didn't think it was ridiculous at all.

He leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. "We woke up in the hallway and stayed in the hallway until we came back to the surface. But, I remember being in a lab."

I stared at him, wishing I could tell him he was crazy, that the drugs were freaking him out and me along with him. Instead, I turned my head and spoke into the mattress. "So do I."

It was hazy, not like the memories that had come crashing down on me in the hall, but I had a distinct memory… of a lab, brightly lit, white and sanitary, a brush of fabric against my arm as someone walked by, muffled voices, the buzz of machinery. But that wasn't the strange part; that could have just been them making a DNA Omelet out of our genetic code. What was weird was that it had all felt so…new. Like each sensation was being written on a totally blank page. I had tried to ignore it, pretend it was just a confused dream, but now… As absolutely psychotic as it sounded to say we were clones, every instinct in me was screaming that it was true.

Obviously encouraged by my confession, he continued in an excited whisper. "They're still back there."

"Who?" I squeezed my eyes closed in the mattress. Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it…

"Us, I mean the original us, Sheppard and McKay number one." Dammit, he said it. "And we need to bring them back."

I finally lifted my head. "_We_ need to bring them back?"

He dismissed my comment with a flick of his hand. "Fine, _you_ need to bring them back. The point is, they need help or they would be back already."

He was right, of course. The son of a bitch was always right. If we…they were being held and could have escaped, they would have by now. Let's face it, the John and Rodney Variety Show had already pulled off some pretty incredible feats. Working together, a simple prison break would have been a snap for us…them. Damn this was confusing. Rodney would have popped open some panels, John would have bashed a few heads, there would have been a mad dash for the gate followed by drinks on the balcony at the end of the day. Throw in the surly banter and the witty repartee and you had just described most of the team's missions. But that hadn't happened, which brought up an entirely different question.

"How do you even know they're still alive?"

"Why go to all the trouble of making copies to send back if you are just…just going to destroy…the originals? Oh, god…here we go…again."

I knew what that meant and yelled, "Carson!" while grabbing the bedpan off the table. As many times as I had seen it, I still broke out in a sweat every time he retched. Beckett jogged in, followed by a nurse who took the container from me. I put a hand on Rodney's back, feeling the muscles spasm with the pain and puking. Carson injected the morphine into the IV and a few seconds later the muscles relaxed under my palm. I helped ease him back against his propped pillow, leaving a hand on the back of his neck until he took a few deep breaths and nodded a silent, yet snippy, 'I'm okay,' in my direction. The nurse cleaned him up with a damp cloth and Carson leaned in behind her.

"Sorry, lad. Is that better?"

"Heaven on Earth, Carson," he told him with genuine gratitude, "heaven on Earth."

After a cursory check, both Beckett and the nurse left; at this point they were strictly pain management and moral support. There was really nothing else for them to do. Or me for that matter, so I plopped back in my chair to wait.

McKay shook his head exhaustedly and shooed me weakly with his hands. "Nope, no more sitting around. You're not going to use me as an excuse to slack off any more. You have a mission to prepare for."

I started to protest, but realized he was right. If I was going to do this, then it had to be soon. It was just a matter of time before I was the one sitting where he was. Still, I hesitated because I knew it was also just a matter of time before he had another episode, puked red, and received another morphine push. Carson was monitoring that closely, afraid that Rodney would push so hard on the drug that he would just push himself over to the other side. Beckett was right to worry, given the chance, he would have. Instead, he had to come to me.

I find the control panel between the tanks and pray that I have the strength of my genes to do this one last task. I touch the controls and think one word, _Wake_. The blue liquid that encases them begins to drain, leaving a slimy residue on the glass and the bodies.

"That is so gross," I whisper and can only think of how disgusting it would be to be coated in snot. I manage not to hurl again, but just barely, then chuckle when I think about how McKay is going to react when he wakes up covered in a giant Smurf-colored loogey.

The liquid has drained and the tops of the tank lift with a whoosh. I watch for a few seconds. Nothing happens. Crap. It's times like this I really wish Rodney was here. Neither of them move, neither of them seems to even breathe, and I have a moment of panic that I may have killed them in the process of reviving them. I check the life signs detector and relax when I see their dots still blinking. A few seconds more and McKay starts to cough. He curls on his side and more of the blue goop drains from his mouth and nose. "Ewww." I shiver involuntarily at the sight but am satisfied that they are at least alive. I drop the pack and P90 on the floor and head for the door. I've done all I can do, the rest is up to them. Rodney and I had our shot, now I've given them theirs. The door closes behind me, effectively blocking out the sound of coughing and I head down the hall. Just one more thing to take care of;_ See you soon, McKay._

I was packing the clothes when Rodney came in my room. How the hell he had managed to walk from the infirmary to my quarters without being seen was absolutely beyond me. He took a few steps in, then leaned heavily on my dresser.

"McKay, what are you doing here?"

"I just came to say goodbye."

"I wouldn't have left without coming to see you first."

"That's not what I mean." And for the first time I noticed that he had stopped by his room on the way and brought his gun. He smiled when my eyes widened. "I didn't want to do it alone."

"Rodney, just give it to me." It was instinct, pure and simple; protect McKay. As the team lead, that was my job. As his best friend, that was my obligation.

He just shook his head. "Only if you promise to help me."

"Jesus, you can't think that I could…"

He held up a hand, slumping even further into the furniture in defeat. "John, I can't do this anymore. It's just getting worse and worse and worse. I won't last another day, if that. But I don't think I'll make it till you get back and I don't want to..." He took a breath, spoke with frustration. "Carson won't…he just won't. But I know I can depend on you."

I stood there, watching him, watching his face waver liquidly before me. Christ, I couldn't remember the last time I had cried. But I held out my hand and my fingers closed around the grip of the Berretta. He dropped to his knees, facing away from me. He was so calm about it, so goddamned calm. I lifted the gun, my hand shaking so hard I thought I was going to drop it.

"Fuck." _I can't do this._ I placed my left hand on his shoulder and pulled in a shuddering sob. _I can't do this._ "Fuck!"

I felt his hand enclose mine; it was cool and steady, everything I wasn't. "It's okay, John. I'll see you later. Okay?"

"Yeah. See you soon, McKay."

And I squeezed the trigger.

I round a corner and stop, figuring this is far enough. Far enough from what, I can't really say, just… far enough. I pull Rodney's sidearm from my holster. The weight is comforting in my steady hand because of the finality that it promises and the release it is about to deliver. I place the barrel in my mouth, bite down on the cold steel and close my eyes. _See you soon, McKay_.

I've never been a religious man, but as I squeeze the trigger, I can't help but wonder if clones have souls. I feel the bullet pass through my head; it doesn't hurt, just a split second of sensation then it is over. _See you soon, McKay._ It takes a few seconds for my heart to realize there is no reason to keep pumping blood and moving oxygen. But it finally does. _See you soo…_

I feel a hand on my shoulder, a gentle squeeze, and open my eyes to meet smiling blue ones. He stands and offers a hand to help me up with a simple, "Hey."

"Hey, McKay," I reply as I return the smile and take the hand. "It's good to see you."

_(A/N Part 2 up soon!)_


	2. Couples Therapy

_A/N Thanks for the reviews for Reflections, and hope I didn't drive anyone to seek counseling! LOL! I decided to give us all an emotional break with Part 2. Special thanks to Koschka for double checking me on a few things and the term "preshrunk." In return I offer you a blatant plug for her work as she continues to linger under the impression that there are actually readers of this fandom that do not know of her greatness. That being said, if you haven't read her stuff, crawl out from the rock you have been gestating under and read it. The links are under my favorites and you will be thanking me for the recommendation._

**Triptych** (triptik) _noun_ 1. a picture or carving on three panels, typically hinged together vertically and used as an altarpiece. 2. a set of three associated artistic, literary, or musical works.

**Panel 2: Couples Therapy**

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap… I slouch in my chair and listen to Rodney's foot beat out an insanely repetitive rhythm on the floor. It's as if he is trying to drive me nuts, on purpose, and finally out in the open instead of covertly as I've always suspected. The irony that I've come to this conclusion now, given where we are sitting and who we are waiting to see is not lost on me. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap...

"McKay!" I grind the word between my teeth, secretly wishing it was more than just his name.

He stops, looks at me with a flick of his eyebrows and smiles. "Sorry."

I swear to God, his eyes are actually twinkling. Twinkling! I know Heightmeyer is a babe, but no one should be this excited to be sent to a shrink. "What is the deal with you?"

"I'm sorry, I just can't help it. I'm just so excited." He shivers in giddy delight. Shivers! Giddy! McKay! "Do you know how long it's been since I was sent for a psych eval? I mean one that wasn't a pre-employment screening but because someone thought I might have an actual mental disorder?"

I scoot a few inches away from him. "Evidently much too long."

"Exactly! I haven't had to do this since I was a teenager."

"Yeah, I can see where being considered mentally stable for the past two decades could be a real bummer."

"You don't get it. Do you know how many psychiatrists I saw as a child?"

"I'm beginning to think not enough."

"Fifteen." He tells me with smug pride. "In thirty-six months."

"Fifteen? You were sent to fifteen shrinks? What the hell was wrong with you?" I suddenly have images of young Rodney shaving cats and carrying on conversations with Einstein at the breakfast table.

"Nothing." I regard him blankly, and he shakes his head in exasperation. "I swear, you make one bomb, one, and your parents brand you for life. It's not like I even used the plutonium. And I did not 'plant' it under Jeanie's bed. I was just storing it there because my parents kept raiding my room."

Suddenly cat shaving doesn't sound so bad. "Sure, Rodney, I believe you." I scooch my chair away a few more inches and make a mental note to check under my own bed when I get back to my quarters. "But fifteen?"

"That's psychiatrists, mind you. That doesn't count the half dozen or so psychologists that were mixed in between."

"You differentiate between the two because…?"

"Prescriptions." He leans in as if revealing a trade secret. "Psychologists can't write you a 'script at the end of the session, so it takes some of the challenge out of it."

"Uh-huh." Just don't make any sudden moves, John, and you'll be fine.

"I had a stack of twenty-three during that same thirty-six month period."

"Jesus! Your parents let you take twenty-three different drugs?"

"Please! I didn't take any of them."

"Well, maybe you should have taken some. I admit twenty-three sounds like overkill, but one or two of the lithium based drugs might have actually been a little bit helpful. Might still, even."

He rolls his eyes. "Like I said, nothing was wrong with me. I was exceptionally bright as a child, I was also exceptionally bored. My parents didn't know how to handle that combination, nor were they really interested in trying to themselves. It was just much easier for them to push me off on someone else to fix. Problem was, seeing a psychiatrist really did little to keep me from being bright and bored; it just provided an outlet for me to…express myself. Ends up most of them decided they weren't that interested in helping me either."

"Holy crap, this is all a game to you."

"Not so much a game as a diversion." And he smiles again, that goddamned devil-on-the-shoulder, twinkley-eyed smile. And I suddenly know what he is up to.

"Oh, ho, ho, no. No, no, no, no. You are not going to pull anything during this session." He crosses his arms and leans back in a pout. I ignore him. "I'm serious, McKay, the only thing standing between us and freedom is this session and Beckett's final okay. I've almost got him convinced; you are not going to do anything to keep Heightmeyer from releasing us."

We are grounded. Weir in her caring and infinitely paranoid wisdom has decided that McKay and I have suffered enough trauma from our experience of being put in slime storage for three weeks that she refuses to release us to full duty until we have been deemed medically and mentally fit. The fact of the matter is, that regardless of how freaked we may have been to discover we had been cloned… and believe me, we were plenty freaked… we have adjusted just fine. It's the rest of the expeditionary force, the ones that watched those same clones die thinking they were us; they're the ones that really need the psychological help.

When I piloted the Jumper back to Atlantis a week and a half ago, I was doing my damnedest not to think about what we had just seen down in the hallway of that underground complex. Not that I was succeeding, mind you, but I sure as hell was trying.

"Atlantis, this is Sheppard, do you copy?"

"John! Thank God," Weir exclaimed across the frequency. "We were worried you had done something rash after we found Rodney…" She paused, as if she had said too much. I exchanged confused looks with McKay, noting the way the drying goop was causing his hair to spike in a very disturbing, very Billy Idol fashion. "Just come back and we can talk about it."

Ooo-kay. Didn't know what we needed to talk about, but returning home had been the plan all along. All I wanted was to shower, shower again, and shower once more until the dried snot coating my body and filling way too many orifices was just a memory and then even the memory of the dried snot was washed down the drain. "We're on our way, Sheppard out."

"We?" I heard her ask just as we entered the wormhole, then we were back in Atlantis. I piloted the ship up into the Jumper bay, landed, and McKay and I exited out the hatch. We were met by the sound of running feet, lots of running feet. Bates' security force entered first, followed closely by Weir, Grodin and Zelenka.

Elizabeth pushed her way through the security team. "Major, we were so…Rodney?" Relief was replaced by confusion then was replaced by relief and back to confusion. Everyone else's reaction was just as jumbled.

Grodin let out a breathy, "My God, Rodney."

A wide-eyed, "Do prdele!" came from Zelenka, followed by slack jawed wonder.

After the initial exclamations of surprise, everyone just stood and stared at us, obviously unsure what to do.

Rodney smiled nervously at all the eyes on him and waved a feeble greeting with a "Hey."

From behind our initial welcome party I heard a winded Beckett come rushing into the bay. "Elizabeth, where is he? Is he all right? Did he…" Carson came to a screeching stop next to Weir, looked with relief at me then wide-eyed, open-mouthed shock at Rodney. His knees wobbled and he sat down hard on the floor. "Bloody hell."

McKay and I both moved toward him then with concern. The motion seemed to snap Bates out of his stupor and he raised his P90 causing the rest of the security force to do the same. We stopped in our tracks, raising our hands as he demanded, "Drop the weapon!"

It took me a second to realize he was talking to me and I lowered by own gun to the ground. "What the hell is going on here?"

Elizabeth turned to Bates, "Sergeant?"

Like the good little security officer that he is, Bates never took his eyes or his sights off of us. "We don't know who these two are."

"Well, let me introduce us. This is Dr. Rodney McKay, lead science officer here on Atlantis, and I'm Major John Sheppard, your damned CO. And I don't appreciate being held at gunpoint by my own men."

"Sergeant, I think you can lower your weapon," Elizabeth told him.

"No offense, ma'am, but I don't think that is a good idea. Because if that is Dr. McKay, then who's body did I just help move to the morgue?"

Then it all clicked together; we had found my dead body double on the planet, but Rodney's had been here on Atlantis all along.

I saw McKay swallow and lick his lips. "M..morgue?"

And I could feel the tables were being turned and I knew I was going to be the one watching McKay freak out this time.

But not right away. First we were ushered off to the infirmary, complete with armed escort. The reaction of personnel in the hall as we passed was similar to the one we had arrived to; googling eyes, dangling mouths, dropped coffee cups and clip boards. One tech even dropped her laptop in shock and I thought Bates was going to shoot McKay when he suddenly stopped to berate the woman for damaging valuable computer equipment. As he continued on his rampage, the woman began crying, not that Rodney hadn't seen that before, but I don't think he had ever seen tears of joy streaming down the face of one of his subordinates as he gave them a verbal dressing down. Finally unable to contain herself any longer, she threw her arms around McKay's neck.

Rodney flushed red under the blue tint of dried slime that still coated him, giving him a distinct purple hue. His arms flailed in a futile attempt to redefine his personal space. "Uhm...yes…well…as long as you see the error in your ways. Okay… uh… you can let go, now…you can…all right, enough…get…get off. Sergeant, do something."

Bates peeled the woman away from McKay and she stood there smiling through her tears at him. Rodney cleared his throat, stepped back in line beside me and shooed the security team toward the infirmary, anxious to make his escape. He shot a glare in my direction as we continued down the corridor. "Not a word. Not a goddamned word."

I tried my best to remove the smirk from my face, but finally could no longer hold in my sputtering snicker.

"Asshole."

"What? I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it and I know it's just a matter of time before you say it. Not that I really expect anything else from a man whose personal character development stopped abruptly at the age of twelve."

Fine, he wanted it, he got it. "Rodney has a girlfriend," I sang nasally.

He hung his head, "You know, Sheppard, whole issues of the Journal of Psychology could be devoted to studying your childish desire for self gratification."

"Oooh, I love it when you get all Freudian on me. Please tell me you're going to explain the phallic symbolism of walking through the stargate."

He flipped his hand in dismissal. "Freud was a hack, whose inner fratboy, much like your own, believed everything in the world revolved around sexual satisfaction."

"You mean it doesn't?" I asked him in mock surprise.

He shook his head. "Major, sometimes a wormhole is just a wormhole." He scrubbed his hands through his hair in frustration, causing blue flakes to flutter to the floor. "God, I need a shower. I just want to get this over with and get back to my quarters for a nice long soak."

"Amen to that, brother." I scratched at my own head that was starting to itch from the desiccated slime. "I may not come out of my own shower for a good day and a half."

Sgt. Smith cleared his throat behind me. "That may not be possible, sir."

I addressed him over my shoulder. "Why, did something happen to my shower while I was gone?"

"No, sir, it's just, your quarters…" he hesitated and Bates stepped in.

"That's enough, Smith."

I really could understand that Bates was just doing his job, but there was something that wasn't being said that definitely needed to be said. By the scowl on Rodney's face, I could see that he was thinking the same thing. "Bates, what is the problem with my quarters?"

"Dr. Beckett is waiting for you," was his only response and we walked the remaining short distance to the infirmary in silence.

Outside the infirmary door, we found Ford and Teyla waiting for us. Ford bounded up to us with a bright smile, "Sirs!"

Teyla was right beside him. "It is true," she whispered in awe as she reached out and grabbed a hand from each of us, as if to convince herself that the rumors she had heard were correct.

I returned the smile, feeling a twang of guilt that I hadn't asked about them upon our arrival, although given our welcome, I think I was justified in letting it slip my mind. Still, when we had left the planet, we didn't know if they had returned to Atlantis or been captured just like we had.

However, that reunion was cut short by the arrival of Carson out the door. "All right, off with you." He efficiently extracted us from Teyla's grip and pushed us unceremoniously into the medbay. I managed one quick glance back at our teammates before the doors shut behind us. "We've lots of work to do so best to get started."

He ushered us gruffly to two beds calling orders to the flurry of nurses and technicians in the room. I honestly had no idea the medical staff was so large, but there seemed to be people coming out of the proverbial woodwork, which is no small feat considering there is no wood on Atlantis. "As soon as you finish the blood samples on Sheppard, I want him in the MRI, McKay to follow immediately after." He walked up behind the nurse taking my blood pressure, frowning at the blue residue on my arms. "What's this then?"

I started to pull out the thermometer that had just been shoved in my mouth, but Rodney answered him. "Dried ectoplasmic goo." Beckett gave him a shocked look.

"We've been slimed," I told him around the thermometer.

Rodney shook his head. "My God, Carson, how the hell should we know what it is? We woke up in tanks coated with the stuff."

"You were in tanks?"

"Yes, big glass ones and evidently this stuff was filling all the ancillary space in and around us."

"You ingested it then?"

"Ingested, inhaled, God it seemed to be coming out of everywhere." Rodney shuddered. "I don't even want to think about what's going to happen when I have to pee."

Beckett frowned then called out, "Michaels, samples, now." A technician appeared with tiny glass jars and tweezers and started pulling flakes from our arms and hair. "And I'll want samples of the other, as well, when the time comes," he told us flatly.

Several hours later, we were still unshowered and still under guard. Beckett sat at his desk, studying the images from our medical scans. He reached for something and for the third time in the past hour knocked over his coffee cup. "Bloody hell!" There was no denying it, the man and his entire staff were on pins and needles.

The effect was rubbing off on me and McKay, as well, and we both jumped with the exclamation. "Carson, I am about to crawl out of my skin both literally and figuratively," Rodney told him. "I look like a damned Smurf with the mange and my nerves have reached their last synapse. Now either tell us what is going on with us so we can take a shower or sedate me into oblivion so I don't have to listen to you scream 'bloody hell' again."

Carson picked up his laptop and stormed over to where we sat on the beds. "I'm going to show you something, you cheeky little bastard. Do you see this?" He showed us an image of what appeared to be a scan of internal organs covered by bulbous growths.

"Are those…?" I started with a grimace but he cut me off.

"Tumors, lots and lots of tumors growing all over Rodney's insides. And this one, Major, is yours." He pushed a button and the image changed to one a little less disturbing, but just barely.

"Those are in us, now?" I felt nauseas as I asked the question.

"No, this was from two days ago. So far, the scans I've run on you today are clear." McKay and I both let out sighs of relief.

"Carson, we weren't here two days ago." I told him.

He drew in a deep breath and pointed a shaking finger in my face. "I honestly don't know who was or wasn't in here two days ago. All I do know is that for the past three weeks all I have done is run tests and more tests on one John Sheppard and one Rodney McKay. I have had to deal with the fact that both John and Rodney were dying and there was nothing as a physician or friend that I could do except give pain killers and compassion, and in the process deplete my personal reserve of energy and the mission's reserve of morphine. Then, this morning I had to wake up to find that Rodney had gone and blown his brains out and John had skulked off to die like a wounded dog. Now, you will forgive me if I don't give a flying fuck about your desire to shower. You will sit there and submit to every test I can dream up until I'm convinced you are who you say you are and are not going to repeat history on me. Do I make myself clear?"

"Blew his brains out?" Rodney had paled to a weak shade of sky blue.

"I guess that makes two of us," I mumbled.

Carson's eyes widened as he realized he had just told us how the other McKay had ended up in the morgue and that I had just told him how the other Sheppard had come to his end. He sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry, lads, that was uncalled for. It's just been a little stressful around here lately and I don't see it changing any time soon. I don't want you leaving the infirmary, but you can use the showers in the back."

He turned to return to his office and Rodney stopped him with what was to become his mantra for the next week. "Carson, those two, they weren't us."

He regarded us with weary, sad eyes. "Well, they sure had me fooled."

The door to her office opens and Kate Heightmeyer welcomes us in with a smile. "Doctor, Major, thank you for coming."

I smile back. "Not like we had much choice."

She motions to two chairs then takes her own. "I can understand your hesitance, Major, but I think that if you give this a chance it could be very beneficial."

"I keep trying to tell him the same thing, Doctor," McKay informs her, although he has done no such thing. The only thing he has told me is that he gets his kicks trying to head shrink the shrink and seeing as he was preshrunk as a kid that probably won't be too hard in this case. The man most likely has logged more clinical session time than Heightmeyer herself.

"Please, call me Kate, I prefer to keep things a little more informal."

"Well, then, Kate, call me Rodney." She smiles with a nod then turns to me expectantly.

"I'm kind of partial to Major, myself."

The smile never fades, "Very well, Major, whatever makes you comfortable."

Watching her, I can't help but wonder if someone opened a hair salon on Atlantis while I wasn't looking. If not, it's pretty obvious that she managed to smuggle in more than one personal item, including a Mary Kay makeover kit like my Aunt Audrey used to haul around in that pink caddy of hers and a curling iron with one hell of a universal adaptor. Seeing as I had never seen an electrical outlet in the city, that was down right impressive.

Now, I know a lot of people would say I'm being hypocritical when I complain about what others managed to smuggle through the gate. I would counter that they are just jealous that they weren't as resourceful as I was. I can justify everything I brought and state with complete confidence that the only true personal item I have is my copy of 'War and Peace', which, after struggling to stay awake through the first three chapters, is quickly on its way to becoming the most critically acclaimed paperweight that has ever existed. Still, everything else falls into two other categories of Non-items; consumables, such as candy bars and booze, which are technically only temporarily 'items' as they weren't meant to last indefinitely, and two-dimensional matter that technically shouldn't be considered an 'item' if it is less than one quarter inch thick. This covers my Johnny Cash poster and my Hail Mary DVD. Then of course, there are things like condoms and chocolate frosted pop-tarts, which fall under both categories.

She took out a pen and notebook bound in leather; must have justified that one with 'job related'. "So, I can only imagine how strange it has been for the two of you since your return."

"Yeah, strange is a good word to describe it."

Rodney sighs dramatically and rolls his eyes heavenward, as if looking for guidance. "You have no idea, Kate. It really gives you a sense of your own mortality and the impact you have on people. Although, the outpouring of emotions has been a little overwhelming at times."

I snort in my seat beside him and he glowers at me. "What?"

"Face it, McKay, you are eating it up."

And he was. That little cuddlefest with the butterfingered technician on the way to the infirmary may have been the first PDA Rodney experienced upon his return, but it sure as hell wasn't the last. Everywhere we went, people were coming up to us and welcoming us back. Sure I was included, as well, but in their mind's eyes I had never really died. My clone had just disappeared for a few hours then returned in the form of me. But Rodney's clone they had watched get sicker and sicker, then they had watched as the body bag with his remains had been carried out of my room.

When he had walked out of that Jumper it was, in essence, the second coming of McKay and yea, verily, all his glory spilled forth on the people and they considered it good. He would walk the halls smiling benevolently at his disciples, like a Geek god descended from some Newtonian version of heaven, to grace the masses with his presence and in effect provide living proof of a new law of dynamics: the head of a physicist will swell exponentially relative to the amount of kissing taking place on his ass. It's actually a logarithmic relationship; I can graph it for you if you like.

The only exception to this had been Zelenka, who after his initial shock wore off, realized he was no longer at the top of the scientific food chain. Evidently, the little Czech's taste of power had revived memories of his totalitarian-governed youth and he had set to ruling the science staff with an iron fist that would have had the Politburo taking notes. Rumor had it that he had actually pulled off his shoe and with Kruschevian-gusto banged it on the table at the last staff meeting, before promptly throwing it at Kavanagh. This could explain why Kavanagh was the second PDA in the hallway for Rodney. I personally had pulled the sobbing scientist off McKay by the ponytail while he chanted "Thank God!" at Rodney's quickly retreating form.

"I'm just trying to be appreciative, Major." The response is directed at me, although he is looking at Kate the entire time. "There is nothing sanctimonious in my actions."

"Rodney, I'm about a day away from commissioning the engineers to build you a goddamned Pope-mobile if you keep it up."

"You're just jealous because people obviously liked my clone better than yours."

"Your clone only got the sympathy vote because it was too inferior to last as long as mine."

Kate steps in before we can descend into an all out screaming match. "Let's talk about the clones. Major, how did you feel when you found your clone?"

Alex, I'll take 'topics I want to avoid like a screaming case of the clap' for one thousand, please. I feel the blood drain from my face but manage to mumble, "It was a little disturbing."

Now it's Rodney's turn to snort. "I would classify passing out on the floor more than being a little disturbed." He encloses the last words with air quotes then folds his arms.

That son of a bitch! That lying son of a bitch! "You lying son of a bitch!"

"So now you're denying passing out?"

"That's not what I mean and you know it."

We had left the rooms with the tanks, leaving behind as much of the blue snot as we could scrape off our bodies and a couple of pairs of socks and underwear coated in the stuff. We had only gone around one corner, searching for our way out, when we saw him.

I held up a fisted hand, effectively stopping McKay in his tracks. I raised the P90 and slowly crept down the hall toward the still form. He was sitting against the wall, eyes thankfully closed, the 9mm still held loosely in one limp hand by his side, the splatter still wet on the walls. I recognized the expedition clothing immediately and I remember thinking, damn he looks familiar why can't I remember his name. Funny thing, it was the watch, _my_ watch, on _his_ wrist that finally made it all come crashing home for me, and crash it did.

"Shit!" I stumbled back, trying to get as far away from him as I could and ended up against the opposite wall.

"Major?"

McKay jogged up beside me, not looking at the body until I pointed a shaking finger with a, "Holy fucking shit, that's me!"

"What?" Then he looked at the body and jumped back beside me, "Oh, my God!"

That was the wrong reaction on his part, the absolute wrong reaction, because the short, sharp breaths I had been taking only got shorter and sharper with his concurrence to my conclusion. Spots were starting to form before my eyes and I staggered into McKay.

I could feel his hands trying to grab my arms, heard him calling my name, but every time he touched me it seemed too crowded, horribly claustrophobic, like it was actually making it harder to breathe so I pushed him away and staggered back into the wall, gasping for breath.

He managed to get a hold on my shoulders and held on for dear life, even though I swatted weakly at him behind me.

"Sheppard, listen to me. That is not you. Do you hear me? That is not you. John? Oh, for Christ's sake!" He dragged me to the ground, my back to the wall, so that I was sitting opposite the body. God, if he could have made it any worse, he just had. He was sitting beside me and pushed my head between my knees. I could feel his fingers kneading into the back of my neck, working to try and calm me down. "Sheppard, you have to calm down. Breathe with me, slowly. In…..out….in….out." But it was too late, the view I had of McKay's boots blurred and the last thing I heard as I slumped unconsciously into Rodney was "Oh, hell."

I awoke for the second time that day with McKay hovering over me; he was still somewhat blue but thankfully dressed. I looked at him in confusion and started to sit up but he pushed me back down. "Major, don't move."

"Why? Is there a bee on me?" I honestly didn't remember what had happened but when people tell you not to move, it usually involves a bee. Then I realized McKay was behaving much too calmly for a bee to be anywhere in the picture. "Rodney, what's going on?"

"Do you remember anything? Where we are, what we were doing, what else might have been nearby, when you passed out?"

"I passed out?"

"Technically, you hyperventilated but the results were the same."

"What? Why in the hell would I hyperventilate?" I pushed myself up so that I was sitting and McKay placed himself directly in front of me, obviously blocking something he didn't want me to see. "Rodney, move." I pushed him to the side and saw why I had hyperventilated.

I instantly started scrambling backwards so that Rodney actually tackled me then straddled my chest, leaned forward and used his weight to pin my shoulders to the ground with his hands. "John, listen very carefully, that is not you."

"Then who the hell is it?" There was a rational part of my brain that was saying McKay was right, that there was no way that I could be lying on the floor with him sitting on my chest and at the same time be leaning against the wall with a bullet in my head. But I will be the first to tell you rational thought tends to go out the window when faced with a situation like that.

"I don't know," he admitted, "and it is creeping me out to no end. But right now, we just need to get out of here and back to Atlantis. Okay?"

I took a few deep breathes then nodded my head. "Let me up." He stood and offered a hand. I tried my best not to look at the body, but there was just something magnetic about it. For some reason, I couldn't help thinking, I really liked that watch.

Evidently I said it out loud because McKay shook his head, "You want it, then you get it."

"Oh, no, I'm not touching him."

"Well, I'm not getting it."

I shook my head, "Fine, just leave it."

We turned to leave, but I hesitated, looking back at the body. Rodney stopped a few feet ahead of me. "Major, I will get you another watch; let's just get out of here."

"It just doesn't seem right, leaving him like this."

Rodney threw up his arms. "What, so you won't take a watch off his wrist but now you want to carry him out of here?"

Now that thought made my stomach do flips. "No. Maybe. I don't know."

He turned and looked at me in frustration. "Sheppard, that is not you."

"But he's somebody."

"Major, if he were just some stranger, some random body that didn't look like you or me or anyone else you knew, would you still feel this way?"

God damn but he could get right to the heart of the matter. "You are a heartless son of a bitch, McKay."

"Why? Because I struck a nerve? Because I'm right? Because I'm trying to get us out of here and home safe? Fine, if that's the case, then I'm a heartless son of a bitch. Just consider yourself lucky that I don't plan to flaunt the fact that you passed out on me all over Atlantis. Now, let's go home."

With a last look back I joined him. "You promise you won't tell anyone that I passed out?"

"Scout's honor."

"Where you even a scout?"

"Don't be so literal, Major, it's an expression."

I glare at him in Heightmeyer's office. "Does the term 'scout's honor' mean anything to you?"

He rolls his eyes. "Major, I was never a scout."

One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi… I grit my teeth until my jaw aches. "You said it was an expression!"

He stares at me in confusion then his eyes widen. "Oh!" At least he has the decency to look abashed. "Well, it's okay, I mean doctor/patient privilege and all. Right, Kate?"

"Major Sheppard," she assures me, "your reaction was completely understandable given the situation you were in and the strain you were under. There is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. But, yes, Rodney is correct, anything you say in here is held in strict confidence."

"No offense, but were you a scout?"

She smiles that damned calm smile of hers and I can't help but wonder if McKay is wrong about the prescriptions and she isn't dipping into the coffers now and again. "Actually, Major, I was."

I lean back in my seat. "All right, then, I'll trust you." I point a finger at McKay. "That still doesn't get you off the hook."

She turns her Prozac-laced grin to McKay. "Rodney, I understand that you also saw your clone."

He shifts uncomfortably but manages to raise his chin when he answers her. "That's right."

"Would you care to discuss it?"

Alex, same category for eight hundred, please. Seeing myself dead was bad enough, but seeing McKay on that slab the same day just about pushed me over the edge. At least we had forewarning as opposed to just stumbling on him in the hall.

After Beckett let us shower, Rodney convinced him that he should let us see the corpse. I'm not sure why. A sense of closure, a morbid sense of curiosity, a sense of being left out because I had seen my dead clone so he wanted to see his? Who knows? But Rodney persisted and against Carson's better judgment he took us and against our better judgment we followed.

Months back, we had discovered a refrigeration room on one of the lower levels. No one had figured out exactly what it had been used for. There were theories that it had been for food storage or a laboratory or even a morgue because even the Ancients had died. But regardless, we had fit the room to the purpose when we needed it, and unfortunately, we had needed it more than anyone had ever thought.

We were dressed in scrubs so that the cold air caused goose bumps to rise on my skin. Yeah, that was the reason. The body lay on a table off to one side of the room. Carson explained that he had the pathologist collecting samples so that hopefully he could better understand the disease that had been eating away at the man. McKay stopped just inside the door, seemingly unsure if he wanted to continue now that he was there. I stopped beside him, knowing I didn't want to go any further, but seeing as he had been there for me, I was intent on returning the favor.

Beckett, who was already at the table pulling back the sheet, turned to see us hanging back. "Rodney, you don't have to do this. We can go back to the infirmary right now if you like."

He shook his head, set his jaw and strided purposefully into the room, with me close on his heels. He reached the slab, turned a light shade of green and said two words. "Garbage can."

I looked at him dumbly, thinking that was an odd thing to say, but then he started repeating it and I understood. I looked frantically around the room, saw one in the corner and made a mad dash as Rodney continued to chant.

"Garbage can. Garbage can. Garbage can!"

The second the metal hit his hand, he turned and emptied his stomach of the only food he had had to eat so far that day. Damn waste of a good Snickers bar.

I placed a sympathetic hand on his back, but couldn't help and look at the corpse. Then something occurred to me. "Carson, you said he shot himself. But the entry is to the back of the head." At my words, Rodney heaved again. I patted in apology.

Beckett grimaced. "Yes, well, we think he had some help. We found him in your room, Major."

Another Snickers bar went to waste and seeing as McKay was using the only garbage can, mine went all over the floor.

Carson covered the body once more and stepped around the mess by his shoes. "Okay, then, that went about as well as I had expected. Now, let's get you two back up to the infirmary, get something more substantial in you than…hmmm Snickers, I'd say by the looks of it. And I'll get someone down here with a mop and disinfectant."

Kate reaches forward and pats McKay's knees in sympathy. "Again, a completely understandable reaction." She turns back at me. "And how did discovering that your clone had helped Rodney's clone with his suicide impact you?"

"Lost me Snickers and my quarters." She gives me a puzzled look, so I explain. "I had to move out of my room. Now, I'm two doors down from him." I hook my thumb toward McKay.

What is that dance thing that kids play? The Hokey Pokey, where you stick one foot in and one foot out? Well, that is exactly what happened when I tried to get some clothes from my room. I took one step in and immediately took one step back out. McKay didn't even make it that far; moral support my ass. Rank does have its privileges, though. A quick order to Bates and all my belongings were moved into my new digs within the hour. Ends up I could have moved in right next door to Rodney; for some reason he seems to have an entire wing of rooms to himself. But two doors down was close enough and far enough for comfort.

"Rodney, how did you feel about that revelation?"

"Well, I have to admit that it does make me a little uncomfortable to be around him sometimes; to know that he is capable of something like that."

"What!" He is absolutely unbelievable!

"Face it, Major, how would you feel if you found out your best friend was capable of shooting you in the back of the head?"

"About as comfortable as I feel practically living next door to a person with a history of planting bombs under beds."

Kate looks down at her leather notebook and jots down some notes. Rodney takes advantage of the distraction to flash me a quick smile and a wink. A wink! A goddamned wink! Okay, fine, he wants to play, then let's play.

"Especially one who can't seem to keep his hands off of me." Well, my little comment certainly gets Heightmeyer's attention.

"Would you care to elaborate, Major?" By the somewhat flushed look on her face, I suddenly fear that she might be a closet slash fanatic and I may have just dug myself a very deep hole.

The first time I woke up with Rodney hovering over me, he had been slimy, blue, and naked. Believe me, that was a first for me.

"Major, can you hear me?" He wiped at a drop of goop that was dripping down his chin and flung it away.

I tried to take a breath to answer him, but found I couldn't; breathe that was. My arms flailed out and he put a hand on my shoulder. "Give it a second. Evidently this stuff is in our lungs. It needs to desiccate some to make room for the air."

Not that it stopped the flailing, but he was right. A few seconds later I was able to pull in a small breath and cough up a gallon of what could only be described as Smurf loogies. After an eternity of emptying my lungs of the stuff, I sat and spit as much as I could out of my mouth. Let me tell you, it did not taste as blueberry as it looked. It was sweet and salty, like double strength Gatorade and was turning my stomach. Ends up my stomach was full of the stuff, as well, as I learned soon enough.

After finishing flushing my system as best my body was able, I turned to McKay gulping air. "What…the fuck…is going…on?"

"Absolutely no clue. Last thing I remember is searching for an entrance in the grass. Next thing I know I'm waking up in a tank covered in primordial ooze."

"You are nude and slimy," I told him matter-of-factly.

"Yes, so are you."

"You are nude and slimy and you are touching me while I am nude and slimy."

He jumped back in realization that his hand was still on my shoulder. "Sorry!" He pointed to a dark lump on the floor. "You're pack is over there, do you have anything in there we can, uh, cover ourselves with?"

I stood and almost slipped in the puddle of goop on the floor. He reached out a hand to catch me then pulled it away quickly when I stared pointedly at it on my arm. I made it to the pack and opened it. When I saw the contents, I looked at the outside more closely. Yep, it's mine, but this was not what I brought on the mission.

I pulled out my gun and extra clips and the GDO. Next I found two Snickers. I tossed one to Rodney who mumbled a quick "thank you," before tearing into the candy. I knew what he meant as I was starving myself and I ripped open the wrapper with my teeth before continuing to unpack. There were also MRE's and water and I put those aside; McKay needed the quick sugar fix first and I probably did as well. Finally, I came to two sets of clothes; one for me and one for Rodney. I handed his across and he frowned.

"Do you always carry an extra set of clothes for me in your pack?"

"No, I don't. Whoever packed this, and it wasn't me, knew we would them."

He looked back at the pack in longing. "I don't suppose they packed a towel as well."

I shook my head, wishing for the same thing. Something needed to be sacrificed in order to get the slime off before I put the clothes on. "Guess I can go without a shirt," I offered and started to unfold it and wipe down.

"My God, you really do have a Kirk complex; any excuse to walk around without a shirt on. No, I have no desire to hose down all the women and half the men on Atlantis. You can use mine, I'll go without."

"And traumatize everyone as they are blinded by the light reflecting off your Celticly pale self? I never knew white actually came in a Day-Glo shade. I don't think so."

He frowned at my comment. "I'm very sensitive to the sun. I burn like a dry twig. Which begs the question, how are you so tan, with no tan lines, mind you?"

So, I've found a nice little dock that nobody frequents? I'm entitled to some me time, too. But no need to let McKay know that. I glared at him. "You are still nude and slimy and you are looking at me way too closely while I am still nude and slimy."

He dropped his eyes to his pile of clothes. "Socks and underwear," he offered as a solution. "We can go…commando, so to speak."

I nodded my head in agreement, "Commando it is," and we proceeded to scrape as much ooze off our bodies as we could. Once we were dressed, I handed Rodney the 9mm and took up the P90 and we set off in search of an exit.

"Major?" I realize Kate is still looking at me expectantly. "I asked if you would care to elaborate."

I clear my throat and lean back in my seat. "No." She seems disappointed and I decide to throw her a bone. "Just suffice it to say that for someone who seems very possessive of his own personal space, he tends to spend a lot of time in mine."

McKay huffs beside me. "You wish."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

He turns and stares at me with a sneer. "Just what exactly did you do at Mardi Gras, Major?"

I feel the heat in my face. I open my mouth once, close it. "When?… How?…" I open and close my mouth once again. I turn to look at Heightmeyer who has her head tilted quizzically to the side. I swear to God I can see the excitement in her eyes. "That's it, I'm out of here." I stand and storm from the room.

Behind me, I can hear Kate calling, "Major, please, we're not finished yet."

I don't answer as I take long, purposeful steps down the corridor. I pass Weir and Zelenka outside the cafeteria. The scientist has her up against the wall and is giving her his opinion of Rodney's mental state. "He is still unstable, yes? Impossible to trust at this time. Could risk entire expedition if he is to continue as scientific lead. I understand your dilemma and am willing to step in to position for as long as there is need. It will be great burden on my own research, but I am willing to sacrifice for righteous cause. I understand it could take some time, month, years even, before he is fully recovered…"

Elizabeth gives me a pleading look as I pass and normally I might have helped her out. However, given that it is her fault that I was sent to see Heightmeyer in the first place, she's shit out of luck. If I'm not mentally competent enough to go on a mission, then I'll be damned if I'm mentally competent enough to rescue her from a power-grubbing Czech.

I continue on to my room, my new room, situated right down the damned hall from my former best friend. My weasley little no good piece of shit former best friend. I think the door open, think it slammed shut behind me, and plop down on my bed.

No more than two minutes passes before there is a knock. "Sheppard, let me in."

"Go away. I'm no longer speaking to you."

"For how long? Because if you think you'll be over this in a few hours, I may just go grab some lunch and come back."

"Forever."

"You know this is futile, Major. All I need to do is go down to my room, grab a penlight and some wire cutters and I'll be in there in about fifteen seconds."

"Try it," I threaten. "I dare you."

"You said it yourself; I have no problem invading your personal space, what's a door and empty threats compared to that?"

I lay there for a second, contemplating my options. He speaks again. "I have a present for you."

I sigh, knowing he isn't going to go away, and think the door open. He walks in and sits in the desk chair. "Greedy bastard. I knew that would get me in."

"Rodney, I am so incredibly pissed off at you right now that you could honestly be in physical danger right where you sit. And seeing as I have already been found mentally imbalanced following that little stunt you just pulled, I would have no problem pleading insanity as a defense."

"Here, I bring a peace offering." He tosses a watch at me. "Courtesy of Radek."

"You took Zelenka's watch?"

"God, no. Believe me; you wouldn't want it, anyway. I think he got it out of a Happy Meal. Hello Kitty or Power Puff Girls, something like that."

I chuckle, thinking of the iron fist of Comrade Zelenka slamming down with a kitten and pink bow on the wrist. "So, where did it come from?"

"Kavanagh, actually. I was raiding his lab looking for parts to build you one and when he found out what I was doing he was so grateful Radek isn't in charge anymore that he gave me his. It's nice, Swiss. I almost kept it for myself."

"You were really going to make me a watch?"

He shrugs. "If I didn't you would just be pestering me the entire time we are on missions to know what time it is."

"Yeah, like we're ever going to go on anymore missions after that session."

He flicks his hand. "Don't worry; I'll work it out with Kate. She owes me anyway. How do you think she got that curling iron of hers to synch up with the Atlantean power system?"

I knew it! Then it dawns on me, he wasn't playing mind games with the shrink, he was playing mind games with me. "You did that on purpose, didn't you? You don't want us to return to duty."

He sighs and leans forward in his chair. "Major, if we were given clearance today, where would be the first place you would want to go?"

I clasp the watch on my wrist… it really is nice… then let out my own sigh, knowing Rodney already knows the answer I'm about to give. "Back to the planet to recover his body."

"I've said it many times before, but it evidently bears repeating. That is not you in that hallway."

"I know, I know, I know, but he is too much like me, it feels like me."

"Oh, and you think you are the only one waking up in the middle of the night convinced it really is you? Do you know how many times I've actually broken out my life signs detector just to reassure myself that there is actually a blinking dot two doors down?"

"Can I get one of those permanently assigned to me?" After our little trip to the morgue, I wasn't just dreaming about being dead myself.

"Talk to Kavanagh, tell him I sent you. At this point, he would probably cut out a kidney with a soldering iron and hand it over if I asked him."

"Knowing that we're alive doesn't change the fact that he is still back there."

"John, if we really were talking about you being back on that planet and I had any say in the matter, I swear, you would be brought back."

"Then what's the difference?"

"Because now this is you we are talking about and I do have a say in the matter." I give him a puzzled look and he continues. "We don't know who took us or why or if they are still a risk. But one minute we were standing in a grass field and the next we were marinating in goo, and if it hadn't been for our clones, we would still be there. It is just too dangerous to go back."

"Doesn't he deserve to be brought back for saving us?"

"Yes, he does," he concedes then leans back. "And if you feel so strongly about it, send someone to bring him back. Anyone except yourself."

"Why not me?"

"Because for some unknown reason, General O'Neill only saw fit to send one Colonel and one Major on this expedition, and we've already lost the Colonel and I have no intention of losing the Major. We have this tiny smattering of officers while there are enlisted all over the place. You can't walk without stepping on a Sergeant, it's like someone spilled a bucket of plastic army men, for Pete's sake."

"They're marines, not army."

"Yes, yes, the few, the proud, the terrible dull and exhaustingly tedious. The point is, they would be lost without you, and so would I."

"McKay, I'm touched."

"Please, don't take it so personally, I just executed a bloodless coup to reassert my position as Head Science Advisor, I need strong military backing in case Radek decides to strike a counteroffensive. By the way, I would watch your own back; I saw he had Ford cornered on the way over here, telling him something about Captain Ford and how a second silver bar would set off his eyes."

"Ford wouldn't try anything. He's too scared of what Teyla would do to him if he did."

He leans forward in his seat again, fixing me with those eyes of his. "So, go on, tell me. Who are you going to send? Whose life are you going to risk to bring back a dead body?"

God damned smart ass. He's right; I wouldn't risk sending anyone else. "No one," I admit.

"And if I get us cleared to return to duty, you're not going to try and sneak off on your own?"

"No."

"Good, I'll talk to Kate and remove the alarm from your door after lunch."

"Liar. There's no alarm on my door and you know it."

He shrugs. "Not that you can hear anyway."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Sheppard, I just dumped a weeks worth of wet dream material in Heightmeyer's lap by suggesting that you have had to evoke the 'don't ask, don't tell' policy at some point in your past. I went to all that trouble just to keep you from leaving the city. Do you really think I'm beyond using a simple silent alarm to keep track of you?"

That reminds me and I lean over and peek under my bed, relieved to find no bombs. "Just checking," I tell him when he furrows his brow. I stand and look at the watch once more. "It's nice. Thanks."

He hitches his head toward the door, "Let's go, its lunch time. I need you to pre-taste my food in case Radek got his hands on some lemons."

I fall into step beside him and we make our way to the cafeteria. Ends up I had been right when I thought he had been playing head games with me, but I find that I really don't mind so much. If someone's going to go tip-toeing around my subconscious, it might as well be my best friend. After all, he has been preshrunk, like a comfortable pair of jeans, the type you're willing to pay a little extra for because they last forever, which is a good thing, because once you have them, you never want to give them up.

_(A/N Part 3 to come!)_


	3. Frogs and Dogs

_A/N Thanks again for all the wonderful reviews (blushes furiously) for the first two parts. Once again special thanks to Koschka for the final once over, much moral support, and the news story about some very unfortunate German frogs. Once again, if you haven't read her stuff, you most definitely should!_

**Triptych** (triptik) _noun_ 1. a picture or carving on three panels, typically hinged together vertically and used as an altarpiece. 2. a set of three associated artistic, literary, or musical works.

**Panel 3: Frogs and Dogs**

When I was a kid, my grandfather had a dog, Winston; named after the statesman or the cigarette, I'll never know because the old man loved them both. Winston was enormous, half Yellow Lab, half German Shepherd and everything those two breeds imply; loyal to my grandfather and ferocious to anyone who wasn't my grandfather. I hated that dog with a passion born of fear and hunger, from his doggy breath snarls to his spiky haired hackles. I hated him almost as much as I hated going to my grandfather's house.

He lived four hours away by car; for most normal people that would entail an overnight stay, but not with my family. God forbid we did anything the normal way. My father refused to pay for a hotel based on the fact that my grandfather's house had plenty of spare rooms sitting vacant for our use. While at the same time, my mother refused to stay in her father-in-laws home based on an insult he had delivered to her family during his toast at my parents' wedding. Suffice it to say, never give the floor to an ill-tempered Irishman who is not impressed with the quality of the booze he has sampled in ample enough quantity to require a flammable label.

So, once a month we loaded into the car for the road trip from hell. It was four hours of Jeannie and I yelling at each other for crossing over that invisible sibling exclusion line that separated her side of the bench seat in the back from mine, followed by two hours of silence at the dinning room table while Winston growled at me and my grandfather chain-smoked and took food from our plates and fed it to the hell hound at his heel, culminating in four hours of my parents screaming at each other about the prospects, or the lack thereof, for the next month's trip.

Winston goes a long way in explaining half of my issues with food; you learn to eat quickly and possessively when everything on your plate is fair game to become kibble in the next five minutes. He also goes all the way in explaining why I am a cat person. For me, there is one big difference between cats and dogs- cats want and dogs need. I've never had any use for dogs; they are all about the walking and the petting and the reassurances. Need, need, need; not a moment to yourself to be had. I ask you, who would intentionally subscribe to that kind of all-encompassing, time-consuming headache? Needy people, that's who. People that need attention and need to be needed for their attention.

But cats are entirely different creatures. They are independent and self reliant. A cat isn't going to get upset if you stay at the lab for forty-eight straight hours; as long as there is sufficient food and water they're content. They aren't going to run away if you spend a week working on a science fair project only to be hopelessly lost forever because your dad was too cheap to buy a tag. And if they jump up on your lap for a scratch behind the ears, it's because they want the attention, they want to be with you, not to fulfill some insecurity driven need. No, cats are definitely the superior species.

Okay, I'll admit, there is something to be said about the fear factor associated with dogs. A cat has never scared away a burglar or kept a mugger at bay; German Shepherds are much more attuned at playing bodyguard than a striped tabby. Then there's the loyalty aspect. When my grandfather had his stroke, Winston never left his side. Never. He lay on the bed next to him for days on end, paced beside him down the hall to steady him when he wobbled with his walker, snapped and snarled at the nurses that came to care for him. When my grandfather passed away, it was just a matter of days before Winston followed suite. Loyal to the end and beyond. It was sad really, in a touching yet tragic After School Special sort of way.

"You and your goddamned ravenous frogs, McKay." At the sound of the voice, I snap my head up from the hazy doze I have been in. That would be my own Sheppard; John not German, but a damn fine guard dog in his own right. He sits at the mouth of the cave, P90 raised, taking pot shots at the fanged amphibians foolish enough to cross within the no hop zone he has established around the perimeter of our shelter.

Technically, they are probably closer in body shape to a newt or a salamander, but they hop, or should I say pounce viciously without warning, and ribbit like frogs, so frogs is how they have been designated by Sheppard. And who am I to question the man who would currently make Jeremiah wish he wasn't a bullfrog? Besides, fortunately, I'm not a biologists and really don't give a damn what he calls them as long as he continues to decrease their numbers and increase our chances of getting out of this mess alive. He fires again and by the faint glow of firelight, I can see the red creeping through the bandage on his shoulder and neck.

"Major, we should change the dressing on your wounds," I tell him as he shoots off another round into the frog-infested darkness.

He glances casually at his injury then turns back to his sentry duty. "It's fine. I'm more concerned with that leg of yours."

"Well, truthfully, so am I; massive blood loss does tend to make me worry as well as woozy. That doesn't change the fact that you look like Miss Piggy after a hot date with Kermit hyped up on X."

"You know, McKay, you just gave new meaning to the term horny toad."

"I am oh so happy that you have managed to maintain your nine-year old sense of humor during this whole ordeal." And actually, I am. Because I have a feeling that things are going to get pretty rough for Sheppard in a few minutes if I don't miraculously start regenerating the blood I've been slowly losing throughout the night. "Seriously, Major, you need to take care of those bites so they don't get infected."

He grins, "Don't worry, Rodney, a few frog hickeys never killed anyone." He squeezes the trigger and another frog bites the bullet and the dust.

"Hickeys no; gaping, bleeding wounds that sting like a son of a bitch, possibly." I check the bandage on my own arm, surprised it isn't seeping through like Sheppard's. I must have a superior clotting factor; thicker blood as a result of the harsh Canadian winters I have endured all my life. Although even my natural proficiency for coagulation can do little for the bleeding caused by a tree limb gashing deep into my upper thigh.

"My, aren't we just little Mary Sunshine, spreading hope and cheer everywhere we go?"

"As I often tell Weir, I get paid to think pragmatically; optimism will cost you extra." Even to my own ears, the sound of my voice is slurring sleepily.

"So we're getting paid for this?" I can hear his question, but find myself floating back to thoughts of dogs and cats, of frogs jumping out of the mud and Jumpers being buried in it, of shoes and ships and sealing wax. "McKay!"

I rouse at my name and try to recall what the great white frog hunter has asked me. "Uhm, yes, we are getting paid, although a fat lot of good it does us seeing as the closest ATM machine is three million light years away."

He fires his gun again causing me to jump like his latest victim. "Well, look at it this way, even the Cayman Islands can't offer the type of tax shelter the Pegasus Galaxy does."

"True," I concede as I try to sit up a little more from my slouch. Okay, big mistake. Big, big mistake as the inside of the cave starts to spin. I try to focus on the opposite wall, but the flickering fire light just makes things worse. "And with the hazard pay we should be getting for this mission, we'll need it."

"Really? I thought we were taking vacation time for this little outing."

Vacation time. No, not one of my better ideas, I'll admit, but not to John, never ever going to admit that one to him, especially not while he's taking out his aggressions on the indigenous species of Planet M3C-what-the-fuck-is-up-with-all-the-frogs. "That officially changed the moment we started on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride," I deflect, closing my eyes against the kaleidoscope of light and shadow hopping across the opposite wall.

"Yep, one hell of a ride." I hear another abbreviated croak as another shot hits home, then, "Rodney?"

I realize my head rush is causing me to drift off again, so I turn my attention back to Sheppard, his black form stable against the darkness outside. "Major, how much longer until dawn?"

"I'd say two hours, maybe a little less, but we're already a couple of hours overdue. There's probably a search party looking for us as we speak."

"They'll never find us in the dark, not with the Night of the Living Toad going on outside."

"Don't worry; I've got plenty of ammo to handle our hungry little tadpoles out here until the sun comes up."

"You're a veritable killing machine," I mumble to his black back. Black shirt, black vest, black jungle behind him… "When you head back to the gate at first light, try not to trip over all the little toad corpses littering the way."

"At first light, _we're_ heading for the gate. We've already gone over this; I'm not leaving you behind."

A black that seems to expand across the rock face and roll around the room… "John, not to be argumentative," I tell him as the blackness curls around to where I'm slumping, "but I really don't think you're going to have much choice."

"McKay! Goddamn you, stay awake! Rodney!" I can hear him barking, like the loyal guard dog that he is. But the blackness is on me, surrounding me, pulling me down then lifting me up into the light of Atlantis.

"Vacation? You want us to take a vacation?" Major Sheppard leaned towards Elizabeth's desk as if he hadn't heard her correctly. I sat in my seat beside him, trying to keep my face as neutral as possible. "We've already been off duty for over a month. Granted, I don't remember three weeks of it, but seeing as I was sleeping in a tank of slime for all that time, I think I'm pretty well rested."

Elizabeth sat with her hands linked demurely on her desk. She was the picture of poise and patience as she explained the situation to Sheppard. "Major, Dr. Beckett and Dr. Heightmeyer and I all agree that you and Dr. McKay are ready to return to duty. However, we also agree that even though you two have not been on active duty these past several weeks, you have been under tremendous stress and getting away from the city, even for just a day, could be invaluable to both your physical and mental health." Elizabeth concluded with a caring smile and slight tilt of her head as if waiting for our reply. It was a stunning performance; I couldn't have asked for better.

Throwing up his arms with a shake of his head, Sheppard turned to me as he flopped back in his seat. "Can you believe this?"

I shrugged, sputtered noncommittally, and gave him my best 'what are you going to do?' eye roll.

He leaned forward again and motioned harshly between the two of us. "We are not stressed out." He might have been more believable if he wasn't clenching his jaw when he said it.

The sigh Elizabeth released was brilliant in all its restraint and compassion. "John, you stormed out of Dr. Heightmeyer's office during a simple evaluation. It is obvious your return to Atlantis has been just as stressful, if not more so, than your time away."

He shot a glare in my direction. Even after the watch, he was still holding that session against me. I pretended not to notice, instead, I decided it was time for me to interject. I had planted the seed with Heightmeyer about a minivacation, it was time to cultivate it with my own blend of verbal bullshit. "Elizabeth, if I may?" She nodded and I continued. "Maybe we could go on a small mission. I believe it's time to swap out the seismic sensors on M3C-882. It's a simple task that can be completed easily with two people on a very nice planet. If we were to take eight to ten hours to complete the task instead of the normal one to two, would that satisfy your request?"

M3C-882 was one of the planets we were considering as a potential Alpha site. It really was quite nice; lakes, waterfalls, tropical vegetation, throw in a cabana and a nice buffet and you could have the Club Med-Pegasus. The only downside to this potential paradise was the geothermal activity that produced some very relaxing hot springs but also manifested in seismic activity. So far it had been limited to a few rumblings but the geologists wanted to make sure we weren't walking into a tectonic nightmare before we established it as our home away from home…away from home...or something like that. As a result, they had set up a series of sensors to measure the activity and the data loggers needed to be changed out every month or so.

Weir smiled happily and I thought, 'I gotta get me some of whatever she's taking'. "I think that would be an excellent idea. Major Sheppard?"

John crossed his arms and looked suspiciously from Elizabeth to me and back again. "Fine, we'll do it. But after this it's full duty, full team, no restrictions."

"Agreed. Get a briefing from the geotech staff and you'll be clear to go."

After our dismissal, we started toward the geology labs and Sheppard frowned at me. "Why are you so happy?"

I realized I was grinning and it was too late to deny it. "What's not to be happy about? We just got cleared for duty, we get to spend a day on Fantasy Island, and I get to piss off the geologists because I'm taking their fluff assignment for the month."

"You really do like making people miserable for your own amusement, don't you?"

"It's not so much for my amusement, especially with the geologist; they carry hammers and picks after all. No, I look at it as a way to continually reassert my authority, which is why I'm leaving Kavanagh in charge while we're gone instead of Radek."

"Haven't you punished Zelenka enough?"

I shook my head. "The man is up to something. He's been meeting with Kate, trying to butter her up by concocting homoerotic fantasies involving Bates, zip-ties, and the drone chair."

John shuddered. "Bates and Zelenka? Really?"

I dismissed the notion with a wave of my hand and a shake of my head. "Please, the man is straighter than a laser level. He has photos of women doing things that would make even you blush. No, he's trying to woo Heightmeyer over to the Dark Side. But he's wasting a perfectly good alien technology bondage fetish if he thinks he can turn my little slasher-shrink against me."

"Still, do you think it's a good idea to leave Kavanagh in charge?"

"It's ten hours, most of which will be in the middle of the night here on Atlantis, how much trouble can he cause? Besides, if anything happens to me, it doesn't matter who I leave in charge, bureaucracy will eventually fail and Darwinism will take over. I have no doubt that after a 'Lord of the Flies' inspired period of chaos, which might result in Kavanagh's pony-tailed head displayed on a spike in the gateroom, Radek will prove himself fittest and prevail as head scientific advisor."

John grimaced and stared straight ahead as we walked. "Why do you say things like that?"

"What? That Zelenka will declare himself chief of the science tribe? Because it's true. He may be small, but he's crafty."

"No, the part about something happening to you."

And there it was, the reason I'd orchestrated this entire outing. It really could be grueling manipulating the puppets, pulling one string so that I got the reaction that I wanted from one without tangling the lines of the others. Maneuvering Beckett, Heightmeyer, and Weir exactly where I wanted them without letting Sheppard know; it was absolutely exhausting. The subtlety involved was probably the most arduous undertaking of my life; it made working on a nuclear warhead look like an episode of Monster Garage. And the irony of the whole thing was that the man for whom I had done it all, the one who should fall to his knees in thanks for all my hard work and effort, would threaten to wring my neck if he even suspected what I had been up to. Not that he would, mind you. No, he had way too much of a conscience to actually follow through on something like that. He was like Jiminy Cricket with a Jesus complex and his own personal dippity-doo enhanced crown of thorns.

And that's where I came in. He needed to get away, take a break from all the emotional transference issues that were floating around in that spiky-haired head of his. But he was too busy brooding about his mortality and my own to realize it. On top of that, he had been plotting how he was going to get past my impenetrable security systems so that he could sneak off and retrieve a certain dead body. You would be amazed by what can be accomplished with something as simple as a pair of wire cutters, some strategically installed spare detector parts, and a willingness to sleep fully clothed. But he just couldn't seem to figure out how I was always showing up in the control room when he just happened to be checking the Jumpers in the middle of the night. It was kind of cute, really, like watching a dog try to lick himself with one of those surgical cones on his head. So, seeing as he was otherwise occupied, it was up to me to step in and save him from himself; no matter how thankless a job it was. The son of a bitch had no idea how lucky he was that I had chosen him as my best friend.

"Why do I say it?" I stopped walking and shook my head in exasperation. "Because it's us, because it's the Pegasus galaxy, that's why. My God, for some reason that combination is more volatile than sodium and water. Because you insist on going back through the gate even though there is this giant cosmic bulls-eye on our chests and a big neon 'shoot here' arrow flashing above our heads." I used my hands to demonstrate the blinking action of the sign, but he didn't seem impressed. Instead, he seemed morose, his mood suddenly blacker than his clothing.

"Then maybe you shouldn't go." He said it in a barely discernable mumble.

Right. Altruistic asshole. The Atlantean Sea would freeze into a hockey rink and I'd be skating power forward against the Wraith before that happened. "And let you have a free shot at all the space bimbos out there? I don't think so. Eventually one of them is going to see past your inner child and outer Shatner and realize what a man who can apply the harmonic oscillation principle to more than just neutrinos has to offer."

I got a smirk, just as I had hoped. The self-sacrificing bastard was so easily distracted by anything involving sex, it was pitiable; it was like dangling a sparkly object in front of a Wheel of Fortune reject. "You know, McKay, no matter how many trips you make through the gate, the chances are slim that you're ever going to find a mute, empath in a miniskirt."

"Ah, Gem, every Trekker's fantasy girl; beautiful, quiet, and able to heal you if you find yourself tortured to the brink of death. Three traits I'm coming to appreciate more and more the longer I'm in Atlantis. No, I refuse to give up hope, because it only takes one, Major, it only takes one."

"McKay! Do NOT do this. Do you hear me? Do not give up on me." I can hear him call me, but can't for the life of me open my eyes. The darkness is too deep, too thick. From off to the side I hear the distinct hiss of a frog on the attack, "Son of a bitch!" followed by gunshots, but soon even those are swallowed by the blackness that I am flying through.

Sheppard landed the Jumper where the geologists had directed us; on a small beach next to a crystal clear lake edged by cliff faces and waterfalls on three sides. There was just enough room to set it down between the water and the twenty-meter cliff that formed the northern edge of the lake. Through the windshield I could see water dripping from the trees and low grey clouds hung heavily on the horizon. "I ask you, what the hell is it with our missions and rain? What rain god have we offended so horribly that he follows us from planet to planet, just to ensure that I am soaked to the bone every time I walk through the gate? I might as well be walking through a naquadah powered carwash."

We exited the back of the Jumper, sinking into mud with our first steps. "Nice," I groan. "No one said anything about mud."

"It usually goes hand in hand with the rain." John lifted his foot and scraped a mass of muck from his boot onto the outside of the Jumper. "All this potential and not a bikini clad wrestler in sight."

I pulled my own foot out, feeling the suction of the substrate. "Great, we pull sensor duty during the monsoon season. No wonder Richardson was smiling when I told her we were coming here today. This just goes to show that you can never trust a geomorphologist who says she would rather work in the lab than the field." I took out the detector and saw the blip indicating the power signature of the seismic stations. "Well, it's about a kilometer that way. Let's get this changed out then see if we can find a drier spot to spend the rest of the day." We started to head out when I realized that neither one of us had our radio with us.

"Forget it," Sheppard told me. "We'll be done in about half an hour and be in visual contact the entire time. Besides I don't want you tracking mud all through my ship."

"My God, it's like you're channeling some weird combination of my mother and Captain Kirk."

"Well, listen to your matriarchal space captain and keep your damned dirty boots out of the Jumper."

I squished my way over to where he waited and we started off into the overgrowth. We reached the sensor array with little problem, the ground thankfully firmed up as we left the beach area, and quickly switched out the data loggers. As I was putting the last one in, the ground rumbled beneath us. The Major and I exchanged glances, but it only lasted a few seconds, then was over.

"Hmmm, I guess that's why we have these things here in the first place," he reasoned then with a hitch of his head, "Let's head back, go cruise the planet for hot chicks."

"Oh, no, you were one of those weren't you?"

"One of those? Care to elaborate, Rodney?"

"One of those guys in high school that cruised around with his buddies in a Firebird or a Vette…"

"A bitchin' Camaro, thank you very much."

"I knew it! Driving endless circles around the mall listening to…hmmm, let me think about this for a minute…not Flock of Seagulls, although by the current hairstyle I wouldn't be surprised…rock, because I'm guessing you didn't become enamored with Johnny Cash until you were at least in college…but something with a little more edge and spikier hair than Van Halen…no, I'm going to go with Billy Idol...or maybe the Ramones…"

He had stopped so suddenly that I ran into his back. "Major?"

"Oh, hell," was all he said.

Peeking around his shoulder, I saw what had halted him in his muddy tracks. "Oh, hell." Yep, that pretty much summed it up. Evidently the little tremor we had felt, combined with the saturated soil, had triggered a landslide from the cliff face we were parked beside. The entire back half of the Jumper was buried in mud, debris, boulders and trees.

"Do you, uh, do you think it has enough power to pull out of that?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah, she has enough power. Problem is we can't get inside to start her up."

"Oh." Then what he was saying really sunk home. "Oh! Of all the stupid… Advanced race my ass! Who the hell designs a space craft with only one way in or out? I mean seriously, what the hell is that all about? Didn't they have any fire codes, for Pete's sake?"

"That puppy's not coming out without some help." He looked at his watch then at the sky as if weighing our options. "Well, we can hang out here for the next nine hours or so until we're overdue and Weir sends a search party to find our asses, or we can head back to the gate and dial home."

Something suddenly dawned on me and I frantically checked my pockets, relieved to find the GDO. "So, how far to the gate?"

"Oh, I'd say about fifteen, twenty miles, tops."

"Twenty miles!"

He nodded his head. "Tops."

I leaned back against the exposed end of the Jumper. "Tops. Sure, that makes all the difference."

He slapped me hard on the shoulder, harder than he really needed to, that was for sure, and smiled. "Enjoying your vacation so far, Rodney?"

I scowled at him. There was no need to hit me so hard and there was definitely no need to blame me for what had happened, at least not as far as he knew. I was just about to tell him that when something dark blue with green wavy stripes hopped down from the pile of mud and landed on the windshield of the Jumper. I leaped back away from it. "What the hell is that?"

Sheppard took a step toward it and it let out a little ribbit-like sound. He bent to get a closer look. "It looks like some kind of frog."

Another gun shot pulls at me through the murky darkness. I try to form the words, try to tell him 'Don't touch it,' but they won't come. I can feel a hand on my chest, long fingers at my neck. "Rodney, please don't do this," he pleads. "This is the wrong fucking time to pull something like this on me." He laughs but there is no humor, only fear and panic. I want to tell him it's okay, but the blackness won't let me through to where he is now, so I go back to where he was then.

He stuck out a curious finger toward it. I swear to God, the man could not help but touch anything he came across; it's like some variation on an obsessive compulsive disorder for him. I mean, seriously, who the hell sits down in a chair that moments before almost blew you out of the sky? Major John Sheppard, that's who. I slapped his hand away. "Don't touch it. You don't know what it's capable of."

"It's a frog." He told me, as if that designation alone gave it the snuggleworthy seal of approval. Foolish, foolish man.

"Technically, I think it's probably closer to a salamander."

"It hops, it ribbits: it's a frog."

"It's also bigger than your hand and looks like it has teeth."

"What is it with you and your fear of ravenous frogs?"

I wrapped my arms around myself and grimaced. "I went to this conference in Hamburg once and the hotel I stayed at had a pond with all these frogs. Ends up there was some sort of fungus or bacteria or something in the water that was causing all the frogs to explode."

Sheppard sputtered, "Exploding frogs?"

I stood straighter and frowned defensively, "It was a very traumatic experience. You couldn't get to the main lobby of the hotel without going past the pond and you never knew when one was about to blow. They were like little toad grenades, for Pete's sake, all swollen up and bloated and then, Pow! Frog parts were everywhere; an old lady even slipped on one. She could have broken her hip, may have for all I know. She was sure moaning like she had."

"I'm impressed, McKay, stopping to help an old lady."

"Well…no…I was running late and was presenting a paper. But I did tell a bellhop on my way out and waited to make sure he went to check on her."

"Gee, Rodney, I'm surprised you didn't get some sort of commendation for compassion."

"It's not like I stepped over her body on my way out. I was practically at the lobby when I heard her behind me. And I'm not a medical doctor; I couldn't have set it or anything." I shook my head, determined to bring the conversation back to the current predicament. "Besides, that's not the point. The point is you shouldn't touch that thing." From beside my boot, I heard a croak. I looked down and saw another one at my ankle. I took a quick step back and felt another one under my foot. "What the hell?" I looked back at the Jumper and saw four more on the windshield.

"They're coming out of the woodwork," Sheppard observed.

I looked up to the landslide escarpment, noting dozens upon dozens of small burrows that had been exposed by the slide. The associated creatures were hopping around the slope, the Jumper, and us. "It's the rain. They must have been hibernating and now that the rainy season has started they're waking up. The landslide just exposed their nests."

John looked at three more that had hopped up behind him. "Okay, even without your post traumatic frog disorder, this is starting to freak me out."

Just then, one of the larger ones on the Jumper let out a hissing sound and pounced onto a smaller creature beside it. The smaller animal squealed, but was silenced quickly in a spray of blood. I jumped back another foot and found myself next to Sheppard who had done the same. "Holy shit!" we exclaimed simultaneously.

The larger amphibian munched contentedly on his victim, hissing at the occasional fellow frog that started to move in for a taste. I bounced nervously, snapped my fingers and pointed to stress my next statement. "I, uh, I think they may be hungry now that they are awake."

The Major nodded his head in agreement without taking his eyes off the critters on the Jumper. "Okay, we're getting out of here. All in favor of heading for the gate raise your hand." Two hands shot up in the air, and Sheppard hadn't even cast his vote yet. "It's unanimous, let's go."

We headed into the jungle, noting with growing dismay the presence of even more frogs along the way. They seemed to be in groups, like whole colonies were hatching out simultaneously. For the time being, they seemed content to watch us pass and occasionally cannibalize one of their own. The rain started about two hours into our hike, sloshing down in buckets and causing an increase in the number and activity of the indigenous fauna. Sheppard led us on, taking only short breaks where the frogs were least plentiful and occasionally climbing a tree to sight the ridge where the gate sat. I didn't mind the short rest stops, regardless of how exhausting the hiking was, and found myself almost grateful when he had us move on. The frogs were creepy as hell, sitting on rock outcrops, in trees, on the ground. It was if they were watching us, their little froggy eyes following us as we passed, just waiting for the right moment to strike.

"Did you ever see the movie 'The Birds'?" Sheppard asked me and I realized I had been thinking the same thing.

"God, that movie terrified me as a kid," I admitted as I ran a hand through my drenched hair, trying to keep the water from flowing down my face. "I wouldn't go near a phone booth for years, not until I started watching Dr. Who."

"The fireplace scene got me. I stuffed the sofa cushions in ours the night I watched it. My mom just about killed me, black soot all over her white upholstery, not a pretty sight."

"I can't walk past a jungle gym on a playground without thinking of that movie. It's funny how things like that stay with you. After our last little escapade in the tanks, I'll never be able to eat blue jello again."

John walked in silence for a few moments, then asked, "Aren't you curious about who took us, and why?"

I had wondered how long it would take him to try this ploy to get us back to the planet, the 'how can you deny your inborn desire to know the answer to everything?' bit. I was actually surprised it had taken him this long to get to it.

"Sure," I confessed, "I even have a couple of theories."

"So do I."

Well, that was surprising, especially since he hadn't shared them with me. Of course, I hadn't shared mine with him, but I just didn't want to encourage him. "Okay, tell me yours first," I coaxed.

"I think that someone is trying to clone an Ancient, that's why they took us and not Ford and Teyla. They could tell we had the ATA gene, which is what they were interested in."

Well, yes, that was quite the obvious answer. No need to tell him that though, he had just as obviously been brooding this over along with all the other things he found…broodworthy. I swear I don't know how he found time to get out of bed with all the thinking and dwelling and internal reflection he had been doing lately. "Yes, that is one of the things I had thought about."

"And have you thought about who or why?"

"Sure, but I really don't care. Whoever did it, more power to them. Although the abysmal failure they had in creating our clones makes me think they probably won't be very successful. Still, if they are, then good for them. I hope they make an entire army of them, maybe send one or two back to Atlantis so they can show me what that damned box with the inverted salad bowls all over it is supposed to do. Or better yet, how to build a ZedPM. Now, that would be worth three weeks of tank time."

"Maybe; but I don't think it would be worth what they did to the clones."

"God, nothing is worth that or what everyone on Atlantis went through trying to take care of them." Or how the aftermath had impacted us, I added silently.

Sheppard may have thought that I couldn't care less about the man sitting dead back on that planet, but he was wrong. That had been the second time I had seen John Sheppard, or a close facsimile, clinically dead… the first being when a giant tick had decided to take up residence on his neck… and that was two times too many. Even though I had started to sound like a broken record by telling him it wasn't him that was dead, it was almost more for my own good than his. It had shaken me. Hell, it had scared the shit out of me. And as long as there was at least one living, breathing, Major Sheppard strutting into my lab, touching things he shouldn't and whining about having to touch the things he should, I was not about to tempt fate and return to the fire; the frying pan was cozy enough, thank you very much.

I decided to share one of my favorite theories before he sank into more brooding. "But if I was a betting man, I would have my money on the Chaya theory."

He raised his eyebrows with a smirk, "The Chaya theory, huh?"

"Yes, cloning little John boy-toys to fulfill her every heart's desire."

"More than one?"

"Of course. Maybe one for every day of the week, or maybe one for every room of her temple, who knows what is running through that lascivious mind of hers."

He chuckled. "That would explain why she needed me, but why take you?"

"Simple: target practice."

"Ha! As tempting as you make it sometimes, even I wouldn't let Chaya take pot shots at you."

"Oh, you, or more precisely your clones, would have little choice seeing as she would have them all wrapped up in her glowing tendrils of Ancient love. And if for some reason one of them was able to break free and tried to save my clones, she would just trade it in for a new one. That's why she kept us, for the replacement parts."

He shook his head with a laugh, sending water flying in a distinctly canine manner, then scanned the treetops and checked Kavanagh's watch. "It's starting to get dark, we're going to have to decide if we want to keep going or find some sort of shelter for the night. I've noticed some caves in the cliffs around us, one of them might work."

"How far have we come?" I bent at the middle and put my hands on my knees. My body was built for housing my brain, not walking cross-country.

"Oh, I'd say about ten miles; the rain slowed us up a bit. We need to check our bearing, make sure we're still heading toward the gate."

He started to take his pack off and I halted him with a wave of my arm. "I'll go, you climbed the last two."

"Are you sure?" he asked, but it was half hearted, we were both beat and although he was in much better physical shape than I was, because, let's face it, what else did he have to do all day expect come into the lab and bother me and work out, he was also carrying most of the gear.

I nodded as I staggered dramatically toward the tree. "Just give me a leg up to that branch."

He cupped his hands and boosted me with a grunt. I worked my way up through the branches until I popped out of the canopy. The clouds still hung low and heavy and I knew we were in for a wet night. Across the distance I could see the ridge. "Looks good," I told him. "Just keep in the same direction we're going. It should open up in a few more miles, I think."

I started to climb down, when I heard a croaking hiss beside me. "Shit!" I scooted back to get away from it and in so doing overtaxed the branch I was sitting on. It gave one small snap and dropped about two inches in anticipation of its ultimate failure. "Oh, crap." Then the entire branch collapsed and I was falling, banging sharply into lower limbs on my way to the ground where I landed with a hard thud.

"McKay!" Sheppard was on his knees beside me in an instant. "Just hold still." I struggled to recover the air that had been forced roughly from my lungs by the impact. "Where does it hurt?"

I took in a ragged breath, "Where doesn't it hurt?" I responded when I was able. I started to sit up, but was pretty much unsuccessful, so I lay back into the leaf-covered undergrowth.

"Give it a minute," His hand rested on my shoulder to needlessly hold me in place. "Oh, Jesus," he muttered then started taking off his pack.

"What?" Honestly, I was just one giant hurt, nothing was sticking out as hurting more or less than any other part. But it was obvious he had seen something that suggested something should be hurting more than the other parts. He dug out his first aid kit then pulled out the field dressing from his vest. "What?"

"You, uh, must have hit a broken branch or something on the way down," he told me then pressed the dressing into my thigh. Okay, something definitely started hurting more than the other parts. I hammered a fist into the ground and clenched my jaw closed to keep from screaming. "Sorry, I've got to do this." Then he leaned into the pressure and the pain really started. I closed my eyes and tried to find my happy place.

_The cosine squared of x plus the sine squared of x equals one_.

Some people chant, I recite trigonometric functions. Sure, it's not repeating the Buddha's name, but I find the familiar rote soothing.

_The secant of x equals one over the cosine of x._

_The cosecant of x equals one over the sine of x._

_The cotangent of x equals…oh God, that hurt!._ Sheppard had leaned in harder sending a shooting pain through my leg. I took a breath, trying to concentrate on the functions, trying to picture them being written with white chalk on an empty blackboard. _Happy place, happy place, happy place…the cotangent of x equals…Jesus, what is he doing? The cotangent of x equals…_

"Cosine of x over the sine of x."

"What?" I wasn't sure if John had actually finished my thoughts or said something completely different.

"The cotangent of x is equal to the cosine of x over the sine of x." I opened my eyes and looked at him, his face intent on his job. "Or one over the tangent of x, but since you hadn't said anything about tangent yet, I figured you weren't going for that one."

Evidently I had been reciting out loud. "I know that."

"Well, I certainly hope so, seeing as every college freshman does, too."

"I know that, as well. I'm just trying to…Holy Mother! What did you just do?" I clawed a hand into the muddy ground. Even through the drenching rain, I felt the sweat break out across my forehead.

He stopped pressing and looked at the wound. "Ah, hell, I think there's still a piece of wood in there. Get ready."

"Okay, okay, okay, getting ready, getting ready…" I blew out two quick breaths. "Getting ready…"

"The tangent of x…"

"What?" I was supposed to be getting ready. How was I supposed to get ready if he just kept throwing random statements out like that?

"The tangent of x equals…?"

"Right, okay, the tangent of x equals the sine of x over the cosine of x."

"Tangent squared of x plus one…"

"Tangent squared of x plus one equals the secant squared of x."

"One plus the cotangent squared of x…"

"One plus the cotangent squared of x equals the cosecant squared of x."

"The sine of x plus y…"

"The sine of x plus y equals the sine of x times the cosine of y plus the cosine of x times the sine of, oh my fucking God!"

"Got it!" He breathed as heavily as I did, wiped at the rain running down his face with one bloody hand then leaned forward again. Having removed the wood he returned to his pressure and recitation. "The cosine of x plus y…"

"The…uh…the cosine of x…" I swallowed past the pain and willed my voice to steady. "…plus y equals the cosine of x times the cosine of y minus the sine of x times the sine of y."

We continued on like that for I have no idea, but it worked. The pain was there but distant, lingering just below the area of the curve. Suffice it to say that we had worked our way through most of the hyperbolic functions and through a progressively darkening sky when he finally said something that did not involve math.

"McKay? Are you all right?"

I lifted my arm from where it rested across my eyes. "I don't know, you tell me."

"It's a pretty nasty gash, but I think I've got the bleeding at least slowed. Still, I think we should find some shelter until morning."

The light was fading quickly and I nodded my head in agreement. "Help me up."

He got me into a sitting position and I breathed through a wave of nausea. Evidently I had been bleeding pretty heavily, because my pants leg was dark with it and so were his hands. When he saw me look at them, he rubbed them on the wet ground, trying to remove as much as possible. Two of the frogs hopped over to where he was cleaning his hands, followed quickly by three more.

"They seem to be getting more active," I observed nervously. "They must be nocturnal." From off to my other side, a good half dozen started advancing.

"I think it's more than just the dark." Sheppard frowned as he wiped his hands on his pants. "I think it's the blood. We need to get moving."

He draped my arm around his shoulder and started to haul me up, when one of the frogs finally got brave enough to strike. It jumped down from above and landed on my chest. "Get it off! Get it off! Get it off!" Sheppard dropped me back to the ground as he swiped the creature away with his hand. It landed on its back, rolled much quicker than an amphibian should and hissed in anticipation of another attack. The sound sent a shiver down my spine and I swear that little bugger was eyeing my leg like a top sirloin. Several others joined in, evidently emboldened by the designated leader's actions.

From his squat beside me, Sheppard fired off a single round from his P90 and the offending frog exploded more violently than any German frog I had ever had the displeasure of seeing. A few of his comrades in arms fell upon the remaining pieces, but others seemed to just be driven into a frenzy by the gore. I saw one launch itself and raised an arm in defense. It landed and a hundred razor sharp teeth bit deep into my forearm. I swung my arm and its blood mingled with my own as I smashed it against the tree trunk. John fired once more then yelled out as two landed on his shoulder. The others started closing in and I reached for my Beretta, only to find my holster empty. I had yet to replace the one that still rested limply in a dead man's hand. With a curse, I reached for the 9mm strapped to the Major's leg, the only weapon in sight. As he pulled the two beasts off his neck, I pulled the gun from the holster and started firing. I honestly don't know if I took out a frog with each round, but sixteen shots later, the slide locked in place and I surveyed the macabre scene of frog legs and guts surrounding me.

"I'm out!" I shouted as I ejected the magazine and put a hand out behind me for the extra clip. They were coming from all directions and closing in fast. Instead of metal, I felt flesh as John's hand hoisted me to a painful stand.

"We're going. Now!" His other hand was slapped over a wound on his neck; blood was seeping through his fingers and running unhindered down a second one on his shoulder. I nodded tersely and threw an arm around him for support, trying my best to avoid his injuries. His other arm went around my waist, a thumb hooked into my belt loop and he moved us quickly and efficiently away from the gauntlet of green and blue skinned assailants and toward the cliff face and hopefully shelter above.

"Rodney? Can you hear me? Wake up. Come on, you can do this. Just open your eyes." I try, I really do, and for a second, I think I can see the inside of the cave. But instead of being illuminated by firelight it is lit by the flashlight on a P90, and I realize I'm seeing it for the first time all over again.

The cave he had seen was tall enough for us to sit in, but just barely. The roof sloped back about fifteen feet until it finally intersected with the floor. Sheppard shined his light into the inky darkness, revealing a bramble of dry grass, leaves and twigs off to one side. "Probably some sort of nest," he volunteered.

"Anyone at home?" I asked hesitantly. With our luck, we would leave the frogs behind only to be mauled by voracious packrats.

"I don't think so; the droppings I see look pretty old. But there's one way to find out." He pulled out one of those Athosian Zippo's that Teyla had given him. The fire shot across the cave and the pile ignited with little effort. Nothing scampered out and went for our jugulars, so he motioned me forward with a nod of his head.

I half dragged, half crawled into the cave and took up residence against the wall opposite the fire, panting heavily from the exertion of the climb and the throbbing in my leg and arm. Sheppard followed and sat beside me. "Home sweet home," he mumbled then set to pulling out his first aid kit.

"Here, let me," I offered and began cleaning the wounds and bandaging him up as best I could given our limited supplies. The wounds were messy and stomach-turningly raw but, thankfully, not too deep. Next, we turned to my arm, which was similar in nature to his own injury. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm really looking forward to an antibiotic injection from Carson when we get back."

"You and me both." I handed him back his sidearm and he reloaded it with a clip from his vest. "Where's yours?" he asked, noting my empty holster for the first time.

"You have to ask?" I avoided answering directly; talk about a raw wound.

"I mean, why haven't you replaced the one you…lost?" So he wanted to avoid a direct answer, as well, not that I could blame him.

I sighed wearily. "Do you know how much paperwork is involved in getting a weapon issued, especially when you are reporting one missing at the same time? The last thing I want to do is go into an explanation of why I need a new one." Actually, I just wanted to avoid thinking about where the other one was and the tasks for which it had last been put to use.

"You should have just told me, I can get you one easy enough. I've made a career out of avoiding paperwork."

"Right. And give you just one more reason to justify returning to that planet. I don't think so."

"I told you I'm not going to try and go back there."

"Watch it, Pinocchio, there isn't enough room in here for your nose to grow."

"Are you accusing me of lying?" I swear I could actually see his hackles rise at the insinuation. To the casual observer, it would have been impressive, intimidating, even. But I wasn't a casual observer and could see very clearly that the anger never really reached his eyes, so I continued on offhandedly.

"All I'm saying is that you sure seem very interested in doing midnight inspections of the Jumper bay all of a sudden. So, if the wooden boy allegory fits…"

He leaned forward from his spot against the wall and took a breath as if he were ready to lay into me like an insubordinate cadet, then just as quickly expelled the breath with a quizzical scowl. "How the hell are you doing that, anyway?"

"Doing what?" I asked innocently.

"Popping up like a goddamned Toaster Strudel every time I turn around. Even if you did put an alarm on my door, there is no way you can dress that quickly. Are you sleeping in your clothes or something?"

I scowled right back. "First of all, my choice of sleeping attire is none of your business. Secondly, Ha! Like I would ever reveal my trade secrets to a heretic like you."

"Since when am I a heretic?"

"Since you took the fork in your life's path that lead to a subscription of 'Guns and Ammo' instead of the 'Journal of Applied Mathematics'."

He snorted. "Be careful what you wish for, McKay. If things had turned out differently, I could have been plotting with Zelenka right now on how to overthrow your ass and you could have been sharing this heart to heart with Ford."

"Please! Radek would chew you up and spit you out before you could spout the first ten Fibonacci numbers and Ford would have found some excuse to 'accidentally' shoot me after the first mission. No, as blasphemous as it is to say it, things have turned out just the way they were supposed to…except of course for the ravenous frog attacks."

He chuckled. "Maybe you're right. Anyway, you don't have to worry anymore, or sleep in your clothes for that matter, I'm not going anywhere."

"Yes, you are. At dawn, you're heading to the gate and bringing back help."

"_We'll_ head back at dawn."

I shook my head. "My leg is still bleeding. I barely made it up the slope to this cave. No amount of mathematical mantras is going to get me to hike another five miles."

He set his mouth in a firm line and fixed me with a hard gaze. "We go together. End of discussion."

God, I hated when he got like that; trying to pull rank on a civilian, it was ridiculous. And not just any civilian, he was trying it on me, the man who had told a two star General to his face that he was insane. I ask you, what are the rantings of a lowly, hypersensitive Major compared to that? Little more than emotionally charged white noise, that's what. And don't think I didn't know where it was coming from. He had left one person behind and only because I had talked him into it. He was intent on not letting me get away with it a second time, especially since this time I was the one he would be leaving. "Major…"

"And don't try to feed me any of your 'Major' shit. We go together or not at all."

"You cannot be a…frog!" I backed away as best I could as one of the sharp toothed bastards appeared in the mouth of the cave.

Sheppard furrowed his brow in confusion. "I can't be a frog?"

I pointed behind him as I rolled my eyes in frustration. "No, I'm sorry but you can't be a frog, however, you can damn well blow away the one sneaking up behind you."

He turned in wide-eyed shock and shot the threat hopping into our temporary shelter. He scrambled over to the opening of the cave and let out a curse. "They're all over the place. I swear to God, these things go after their food even more aggressively than you, McKay." He blasted out into the darkness. "If their mouths were just a little bigger and they could spout theories on wormhole physics, I would think it was you on Mac and Cheese night."

And with that, our long night of slow bleeding and sharp shooting began in earnest.

"Rodney! Come on, that's it. Wake up." I struggle to open my eyelids, to chase away the darkness that is all around me. Finally, I pry them open, watch the room swirl sickeningly around until it comes to rest on Sheppard's worried face above me. He sits back on his haunches and runs his hand through his damp hair. "Jesus H…don't do that to me!"

"What?" I manage to whisper.

"Slump over, stop talking, go limp, all of it. I thought… Dammit, just don't do it again."

I try to explain, but all I get out is, "Head rush…light headed…can't stay awake."

"Oh, so you're admitting there's something you can't do?"

I try to roll my eyes but the room just rolls along with them. "Asshole." I mouth the word more than speak it.

He smiles in relief. "That's better." Sitting cross-legged so that he can still see the entrance, he props my feet in his lap. "Let's see if this helps. With a head as big as yours, we need to keep as much blood flowing in that direction as possible. With the demand it must put on your system for oxygen delivery, I'm surprised you don't faint from blood loss when you nick yourself shaving."

"Didn't faint." I force my lips to form the words. "Passed out."

"Of course, my mistake. Well, as long as you stay awake now, you can call it an afternoon siesta for all I care." He leans his head back against the rock wall, lets out a weary breath, and picks up the P90 again. "I think they know it's almost daylight. They seem to be slowing down a little. You were right, they must be nocturnal." He shifts my legs into a more comfortable position, leaving one tired yet possessive arm draped protectively across my ankles.

With my feet elevated, I actually do start to feel a little better, at least enough to form complete sentences. "Major," I tell him weakly, "I know you don't want to hear this, but you really do need to go to the gate."

"McKay, I've told you…"

I cut him off with a boot toe to the chest. "John, just hear me out. I can't sit up without passing out. Do you honestly think I can walk another five miles to the gate? You could be there and back with a Jumper in less than two hours. Grab Carson while you're at it, he could use the fresh air, and make sure he brings the good drugs. None of those little pink pills, I want the intravenous stuff. And throw in a couple of Snickers; I know you have a stash hidden somewhere."

"Rodney, I have no idea what you're talking about." Even as dizzy as I am, I can see the mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

"Cheap son of a bitch, I get you a new watch and this is the thanks I get?"

He looks at the watch and twists it on his wrist. Underneath the chuckle, I hear him mumble, "Whiny little shit." Out loud he tells me, "Fine, when _we_ get back through the gate, I'll give you a Snickers."

I let out a frustrated sigh. "And you have the nerve to accuse me of being sanctimonious."

"What?"

"Sheppard, you might as well come down off of that cross right now, because no matter how hard you try, you will never be able to hammer in the last nail."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You cannot save everyone and you cannot continue to feel responsible for everyone you don't save."

"I don't feel…"

"Afghanistan, Colonel Sumner, our clones, me right now…should I go on or do you get the point?"

He hangs his head. "Don't go including yourself in there just yet."

"Why? You already have. Do you know what Carson told me about the other Sheppard? He didn't leave my clone's side for three days. For three whole days he sat in a chair and watched him die. At first I found that comforting, to think that I had a friend that would be willing to do that for me. But now, I'm afraid that you're doing just what he did. You know I can't go with you, but you're afraid that I won't be here when you get back. Christ, you're as bad as my grandfather's dog."

"What does your grandfather's dog have to do with anything?"

"Nothing, everything, hell, I don't know. Things are starting to get all jumbled up again. All I do know is that you _won't_ go and I _can't_ go, so you're staying and waiting. And I'm just worried about what you're going to do with yourself when the waiting is over." I eye the cold blackness of the 9mm that has been reloaded and restrapped to his leg. His clone used mine, but his would be just as efficient.

"Rodney…"

"It's not your fault, none of it. The fact that we were captured, the fact that we were cloned, the fact that the clones' DNA was held together with the genetic equivalent of spit and bailing wire, the fact that the Jumper was buried and I fell out of a tree and we were attacked by ravenous frogs and _my God_, our lives really are fucking bizarre, aren't they?"

I laugh and so does he as he reminds me, "And that's only talking about the last month."

"I mean, I always knew we didn't have your typical nine to five jobs, but when you start saying it out loud like that, it's really kind of overwhelming."

Through his snickers, John asks me, "You know what we need, McKay?"

"A career change?"

"Nah, you'd be bored out of that egotistically enhanced brain of yours if you were doing anything else and you know it. No, what we need is a nice, long, vacation."

We both burst out in a renewed fit of laughter, and as much as I'm enjoying it, it really is a bad thing, because the black spots are dancing before my eyes. "John," I tell him between the rapidly retreating sound of giggles, "don't panic, but I'm about to pass out again."

I open my eyes to the familiar whiteness of the medical facility on Atlantis. You know it's bad when you've spent enough time in the infirmary to immediately recognize where you are when you wake up there. Off to my left, I see Carson's back as he tinkers with one of his many medical tools of torture that he likes to display on a little tray next to my bed. I've personally never seen him use any of them, but he always makes sure to wheel them out in all their sharp, shining, metallic glory anytime I'm in here, so I'm under the distinct impression that they are purely there as a form of intimidation. To my right is Sheppard. He's in a chair and not a bed, which is good. And I'm in a bed and not the morgue, which is even better. He's pulled the chair up close, so that his head rests on his crossed arms on the edge of my bed and he is asleep. My God, he _is_ just like Winston. Although at the moment, watching John sleep, I can't for the life of me remember why I hated that dog so much.

"Well, just what the doctor ordered, you're finally awake and the Major is finally asleep," Carson whispers as he takes out a penlight and shines it in my face. "So, lad, how are you feeling?"

"Groggy," I admit as I blink away from the harsh little light.

"And that is to be expected, but give it time. We've given you a unit of blood, some fluids, antibiotics, and painkillers; they should do the trick and have you up and about in no time. And, yes, I gave you the good ones, Major Sheppard made sure of that."

I look back over at the man snoring by my knees. "How's he doing?"

"He'll be fine. We redressed his wounds, started him on the same antibiotics that you're receiving, gave him some muscle relaxants for his back…"

"His back?"

"Yes, seems he strained something carrying you through the jungle. Which reminds me; we need to have a little chat about all those powerbars you keep horded on your person."

I scowl at the insinuation that is evident in Carson's comment. "Well, it was five miles back to the gate, maybe more…"

"True," he concedes as he makes notes in my medical file. "But the search team found the two of you right after daybreak. He had only walked about fifty yards from the cave you spent the night in."

"Then, he obviously didn't use the proper lifting technique, didn't bend at the knees."

Carson gives me a patronizing, "Obviously," then heads for the door. "I'll be back to check on you both in a bit. In the meantime, let the Major rest and you'll probably find you want to get some more yourself. Don't fight it; it's the best thing for you now."

I decide that for once, Carson may be right; about getting more rest, not my eating habits. I shift slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position without waking Sheppard, and fail miserably at both. John opens his eyes and blinks sleepily.

"Sorry," I tell him and I genuinely am because he looks like shit and smells one stop away from it. He reeks of sweat and mud, smoke and gun oil, human blood and amphibian entrails. If Kirk had a cologne, this would be it; James T., the fragrance. It's obvious that he hasn't even taken the time to shower or change clothes since we got back.

"You're awake! I should go get Beckett." He gives me a glazed smile and starts to rise, but I motion him frantically back down into his seat.

"Sit! Heel! Stay!" He stops in mid rise with a confused frown and I realize that didn't come out how I had wanted. "Sorry, I didn't mean it that way, but he was just here, and he's going to be pissed if he comes back and finds out that I woke you up. He'll probably take away the good pain meds as punishment; give me chewable baby aspirin and a kiss on my boo-boo instead. So, please, just stay where you are."

"I really don't want to know anything about Carson kissing any part of you, McKay."

"Believe me, neither do I, so just lie back down, go back to sleep, and pretend this conversation never happened."

Fortunately he complies, letting out a yawn as he does so. I let out my own sigh of relief, and only partly because I'm afraid of how Carson would exact his revenge if he hadn't. As pathetic as it is recognizing the infirmary immediately upon regaining consciousness, it is even more pathetic knowing that Sheppard will be within arms reach when it happens. But right now, I honestly couldn't care less how pathetic it may be. I have had a real shitfest of a day and if it makes me feel better to have him nearby, then so be it. I think I'm entitled. Blame it on the blood loss, blame it on the drugs, hell, blame it on the posttraumatic frog disorder for all I care

He closes his eyes, but asks, "So, how did you like your vacation?"

"Oh, you know, crappy weather, antagonistic locals, shitty accommodations, kind of like my last trip to Moscow."

"Yeah, I went to Jamaica once; a hurricane hit and destroyed the hotel I was staying at and it was still a better trip this one."

Without lifting his head, he scoots the chair in a little closer and nuzzles in a little deeper into the mattress, like a dog settling in to a favorite sleeping spot. I can't help but wonder if he's here out of guilt or loyalty, need or want, or some combination of those that can be summarized as plain old friendship. He opens his eyes and sees me staring at him.

"What?"

"You were actually going to carry me five miles to the gate?"

He shuts his eyes again and shrugs. "Didn't have to; Ford and Teyla found us before I got very far."

"Still, you didn't know that when you started out."

He expels a breath and I can't tell if it is a sigh or a yawn. "You're right, Rodney, I can't save everyone, but I'd be damned to hell if I didn't give it everything I had to try and save you."

Well, what do you say to something like that? 'Gee, thanks, you're a real pal'? Hardly. And how do you even speak past the lump in your throat when you can't figure out if what you're feeling yourself is guilt or loyalty, need or want or all the fucking above? Asshole. Self-sacrificing, life-saving, asshole. Fortunately, he doesn't seem to expect a response, probably doesn't even want one. He just lies there, already drifting back to sleep, my own Sheppard, John not German, but a damn fine best friend in his own right. I settle in myself, close my eyes and try to remember when along the way I became so needy and when I started to enjoy being needed, and just when the hell did I became a dog person?

The End


End file.
